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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Child at Home, by John S.C. Abbott
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Child at Home
+       The Principles of Filial Duty, Familiarly Illustrated
+
+Author: John S.C. Abbott
+
+Release Date: June 7, 2006 [EBook #18533]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHILD AT HOME ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Home Economics Archive: Research, Tradition
+and History (HEARTH). Ithaca, NY: Albert R. Mann Library,
+Cornell University. http://hearth.library.cornell.edu
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE
+
+CHILD AT HOME;
+
+
+OR
+
+
+THE PRINCIPLES OF FILIAL DUTY
+
+FAMILIARLY ILLUSTRATED.
+
+
+
+
+BY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT,
+
+
+
+Author Of "The Mother At Home."
+
+
+
+
+Published By The
+
+
+American Tract Society
+
+150 Nassau-Street New-York.
+
+
+
+
+
+Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1833, by CROCKER and
+BREWSTER, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of
+Massachusetts.
+
+
+
+Right of publishing transferred to American Tract Society.
+
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+
+
+This book is intended for the children of those families to which The
+Mother at Home has gone. It is prepared with the hope that it may
+exert an influence upon the minds of the children, in exciting
+gratitude for their parents' love, and in forming characters which
+shall ensure future usefulness and happiness.
+
+The book is intended, not for entertainment, but for solid
+instruction. I have endeavored, however, to present instruction in an
+attractive form, but with what success, the result alone can tell. The
+object of the book will not be accomplished by a careless perusal. It
+should be read by the child, in the presence of the parent, that the
+parent may seize upon the incidents and remarks introduced, and thus
+deepen the impression.
+
+Though the book is particularly intended for children, or rather for
+young persons, it is hoped that it will aid parents in their efforts
+for moral and religious instruction.
+
+It goes from the author with the most earnest prayer, that it may
+save some parents from blighted hopes, and that it may allure many
+children to gratitude, and obedience, and heaven.
+
+
+
+JOHN S. C. ABBOTT
+
+
+Worcester December, 1833.
+
+
+
+
+
+TABLE OF CONTENTS.
+
+
+
+Chapter I.
+
+
+
+RESPONSIBILITY.--The Police Court. The widow and her daughter.
+Effect of a child's conduct upon the happiness of its parents. The
+young sailor. The condemned pirate visited by his parents.
+Consequences of disobedience. A mother's grave. The sick child. . .7
+
+
+
+Chapter II.
+
+
+
+DECEPTION.--George Washington and his hatchet.--Consequences of
+deception. Temptations to deceive. Story of the child sent on an
+errand. Detection. Anecdote. The dying child. Peace of a dying hour
+disturbed by falsehood previously uttered. Various ways of
+deceiving. Thoughts on death. Disclosures of the judgment day. . .28
+
+
+
+Chapter III.
+
+
+
+OBEDIENCE.--Firmness requisite in doing duty. The irresolute boy. The
+girl and the green apples. Temptations. Evening party. Important
+consequences resulting from slight disobedience. The state prison.
+History of a young convict. Ingratitude of disobedience. The soldier's
+widow and her son. Story of Casabianca. Cheerful obedience.
+Illustration. Parental kindness. . .46
+
+
+
+Chapter IV.
+
+
+
+OBEDIENCE, continued.--The moonlight game. Reasons why good parents
+will not allow their children to play in the streets in the evening.
+The evening walk. The terrified girl, Instance of filial affection.
+Anecdote. Strength of a mother's love. The child's entire dependence.
+A child rescued from danger. Child lost in the prairie.. .71
+
+
+
+Chapter V.
+
+
+
+RELIGIOUS TRUTH.--Human character. The Northern Voyagers. Imaginary
+scene in a court of justice. Love of God. Scene from Shakspeare.
+Efforts to save us. The protection of angels. The evening party. The
+dissolute son. A child lost in the woods. The sufferings of the
+Savior. The Holy Spirit. . .94
+
+
+
+Chapter VI.
+
+
+
+PIETY.--Penitence. Charles Bullard. His good character in school. In
+college. The pious boy. The orchard. The fishing-rod. The forgiving
+spirit. How children may do good. The English clergyman and the child
+who gave himself to the Savior. The happy sick boy. The Christian
+child in heaven. Uncertainty of life. The loaded gun. The boy in the
+stage-coach. . .119
+
+
+
+Chapter VII.
+
+
+
+TRAITS OF CHARACTER.--We cannot be happy without friends. Why scholars
+are unpopular in school. The way to gain friends. The warm fire.
+Playing ball. Recipe for children who would be loved. A bad temper.
+Amiable disposition to be cultivated. The angry man. Humility. The
+vain young lady. Vanity always ridiculous. The affected school girl.
+The unaffected schoolgirl. Story of the proud girl. Moral courage.
+The duellist. The three school-boys. George persuaded to throw the
+snow-ball. What would have been real moral courage. The boy leaving
+home, His mother's provisions for his comfort. The parting. His
+father's counsel. His reflections in the stage-coach. He consecrates
+himself to his Maker. . .347
+
+
+
+
+
+THE CHILD AT HOME
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+
+RESPONSIBILITY.
+
+
+
+In large cities there are so many persons guilty of crimes, that it
+is necessary to have a court sit every day to try those who are
+accused of breaking the laws. This court is called the Police Court.
+If you should go into the room where it is held, you would see the
+constables bringing in one after another of miserable and wicked
+creatures, and, after stating and proving their crimes, the judge
+would command them to be led away to prison. They would look so
+wretched that you would be shocked in seeing them.
+
+One morning a poor woman came into the Police Court in Boston. Her
+eyes were red with weeping, and she seemed to be borne down with
+sorrow. Behind her followed two men, leading in her daughter.
+
+"Here, sir," said a man to the judge, "is a girl who conducts so
+badly that her mother cannot live with her, and she must be sent to
+the House of Correction."
+
+"My good woman," said the judge, "what is it that your daughter does
+which renders it so uncomfortable to live with her?"
+
+"Oh, sir," she replied, "it is hard for a mother to accuse her own
+daughter, and to be the means of sending her to the prison. But she
+conducts so as to destroy all the peace of my life. She has such a
+temper, that she sometimes threatens to kill me, and does every thing
+to make my life wretched."
+
+The unhappy woman could say no more. Her heart seemed bursting with
+grief, and she wept aloud. The heart of the judge was moved with pity,
+and the bystanders could hardly refrain from weeping with this
+afflicted mother. But there stood the hard-hearted girl, unmoved. She
+looked upon the sorrows of her parent in sullen silence. She was so
+hardened in sin, that she seemed perfectly insensible to pity or
+affection. And yet she was miserable. Her countenance showed that
+passion and malignity filled her heart, and that the fear of the
+prison, to which she knew she must go, filled her with rage.
+
+The judge turned from the afflicted mother, whose sobs filled the
+room, and, asking a few questions of the witnesses, who testified to
+the daughter's ingratitude and cruelty, ordered her to be led away to
+the House of Correction. The officers of justice took her by the arm,
+and carried her to her gloomy cell. Her lonely and sorrowing mother
+went weeping home to her abode of penury and desolation. Her own
+daughter was the viper which had stung her bosom. Her own child was
+the wretch who was filling her heart with sorrow.
+
+And while I now write, this guilty daughter is occupying the gloomy
+cell of the prison, and this widowed mother is in her silent
+dwelling, in loneliness and grief! Oh, could the child who reads
+these pages, see that mother and that daughter now, you might form
+some feeble idea of the consequences of disobedience; you might see
+how unutterable the sorrow a wicked child may bring upon herself and
+upon her parents. It is not easy, in this case, to judge which is the
+most unhappy, the mother or the child. The mother is broken-hearted
+at home. She is alone and friendless. All her hopes are most cruelly
+destroyed. She loved her daughter, and hoped that she would live to
+be her friend and comfort. But instead of that, she became her curse,
+and is bringing her mother's gray hairs in sorrow to the grave. And
+then look at the daughter--guilty and abandoned--Oh, who can tell how
+miserable she must be!
+
+Such is the grief which children may bring upon themselves and their
+parents. You probably have never thought of this very much I write
+this book that you may think of it, and that you may, by obedience
+and affection, make your parents happy, and be happy yourselves.
+
+This wicked girl was once a playful child, innocent and happy. Her
+mother looked upon her with most ardent love, and hoped that her dear
+daughter would live to be her companion and friend. At first she
+ventured to disobey in some trifling thing. She still loved her
+mother, and would have been struck with horror at the thought of
+being guilty of crimes which she afterwards committed. But she went
+on from bad to worse, every day growing more disobedient, until she
+made her poor mother so miserable that she almost wished to die, and
+till she became so miserable herself, that life must have been a
+burden. You think, perhaps, that you never shall be so unkind and
+wicked as she finally became. But if you begin as she began, by
+trifling disobedience, and little acts of unkindness, you may soon be
+as wicked as she, and make your parents as unhappy as is her poor
+broken-hearted mother.
+
+Persons never become so very wicked all at once. They go on from step
+to step, in disobedience and ingratitude, till they lose all feeling,
+and can see their parents weep, and even die in their grief, without a
+tear.
+
+Perhaps, one pleasant day, this mother sent her little daughter to
+school. She took her books, and walked along, admiring the beautiful
+sunshine, and the green and pleasant fields. She stopped one moment
+to pick a flower, again to chase a butterfly, and again to listen to
+a little robin, pouring out its clear notes upon the bough of some
+lofty tree. It seemed so pleasant to be playing in the fields, that
+she was unwilling to go promptly to school. She thought it would not
+be very wrong to play a little while. Thus she commenced. The next
+day she ventured to chase the butterflies farther, and to rove more
+extensively through the field in search of flowers. And as she played
+by the pebbles in the clear brook of rippling water, she forgot how
+fast the time was passing. And when she afterwards hastened to
+school, and was asked why she was so late, to conceal her fault she
+was guilty of falsehood, and said that her mother wanted her at home.
+Thus she advanced, rapidly in crime. Her lessons were neglected. She
+loved the fields better than her book, and would often spend the
+whole morning idle, under the shade of some tree, when her mother
+thought her safe in school. Having thus become a truant and a
+deceiver, she was prepared for any crimes. Good children would not
+associate with her, and consequently she had to choose the worst for
+her companions and her friends. She learned wicked language; she was
+rude and vulgar in her manners; she indulged ungovernable passion;
+and at last grew so bad, that when her family afterwards removed to
+the city, the House of Correction became her ignominious home. And
+there she is now, guilty and wretched. And her poor mother, in her
+solitary dwelling, is weeping over her daughter's disgrace. Who can
+comfort such a mother? Where is there any earthly joy to which she
+can look?
+
+Children generally do not think how much the happiness of their
+parents depends upon their conduct. But you now see how very unhappy
+you can make them. And is there a child who reads this book, who
+would be willing to be the cause of sorrow to his father and his
+mother? After all they have done for you, in taking care of you when
+an infant, in watching over you when sick, in giving you clothes to
+wear, and food to eat, can you be so ungrateful as to make them
+unhappy? You have all read the story of the kind man, who found a
+viper lying upon the ground almost dead with cold. He took it up and
+placed it in his bosom to warm it, and to save its life. And what did
+that viper do? He killed his benefactor! Vile, vile reptile! Yes! as
+soon as he was warm and well, he stung the bosom of his kind
+preserver, and killed him.
+
+But that child, is a worse viper, who, by his ingratitude, will
+sting the bosoms of his parents; who, by disobedience and unkindness,
+will destroy their peace, and thus dreadfully repay them for all
+their love and care. God will not forget the sins of such a child.
+His eye will follow you to see your sin, and his arm will reach you
+to punish. He has said, Honor your father and your mother. And the
+child who does not do this, must meet with the displeasure of God,
+and must be for ever shut out from heaven. Oh, how miserable must
+this wicked girl now be, locked up in the gloomy prison! But how much
+more miserable will she be when God calls her to account for all her
+sins!--when, in the presence of all the angels, the whole of her
+conduct is brought to light, and God says to her, "Depart from me, ye
+cursed!" As she goes away from the presence of the Lord, to the
+gloomy prisons of eternal despair, she will then feel a degree of
+remorse which I cannot describe to you. It is painful to think of it.
+Ah, wretched, wretched girl! Little are you aware of the woes you are
+preparing for yourself. I hope that no child who reads these pages
+will ever feel these woes.
+
+You have just read that it is in your power to make your parents very
+unhappy; and you have seen how unhappy one wicked girl made her poor
+mother. I might tell you many such melancholy stories, all of which
+would be true. A few years ago there was a boy who began to be
+disobedient to his parents in little things. But every day he grew
+worse, more disobedient and wilful, and troublesome. He would run away
+from school, and thus grew up in ignorance. He associated with bad
+boys, and learned to swear and to lie, and to steal. He became so bad
+that his parents could do nothing with him. Every body who knew him,
+said, "That boy is preparing for the gallows." He was the pest of the
+neighborhood. At last he ran away from home, without letting his
+parents know that he was going. He had heard of the sea, and thought
+it would be a very pleasant thing to be a sailor. But nothing is
+pleasant to the wicked. When he came to the sea-shore, where there
+were a large number of ships, it was some time before any one would
+hire him, because he knew nothing about a ship or the sea. There was
+no one there who was his friend, or who pitied him, and he sat down
+and cried bitterly, wishing he was at home again, but ashamed to go
+back. At last a sea captain came along, and hired him to go on a
+distant voyage; and as he knew nothing about the rigging of a vessel,
+he was ordered to do the most servile work on board. He swept the
+decks and the cabin, and helped the cook, and was the servant of all.
+He had the poorest food to eat he ever ate in his life. And when
+night came, and he was so tired that he could hardly stand, he had no
+soft bed upon which to lie, but could only wrap a blanket around him,
+and throw himself down any where to get a little sleep. This unhappy
+boy had acquired so sour a disposition, and was so disobliging, that
+all the sailors disliked him, and would do every thing they could to
+teaze him. When there was a storm, and he was pale with fear, and the
+vessel was rocking in the wind, and pitching over the waves, they
+would make him climb the mast, and laugh to see how terrified he was,
+as the mast reeled to and fro, and the wind almost blew him into the
+raging ocean. Often did this poor boy get into some obscure part of
+the ship, and weep as he thought of the home he had forsaken. He
+thought of his father and mother, how kind they had been to him, and
+how unkind and ungrateful he had been to them, and how unhappy he had
+made them by his misconduct. But these feelings soon wore away.
+Familiarity with sea life gave him courage, and he became inured to
+its hardships. Constant intercourse with the most profligate and
+abandoned, gave strength and inveteracy to his sinful habits; and
+before the voyage had terminated, he was reckless of danger, and as
+hardened and unfeeling as the most depraved on board the ship. This
+boy commenced with disobedience in little things, and grew worse and
+worse, till he forsook his father and his mother, and was prepared
+for the abandonment of every virtue, and the commission of any crime.
+But the eye of God was upon him, following him wherever he went, and
+marking all his iniquities. An hour of retribution was approaching.
+It is not necessary for me to trace out to you his continued steps of
+progress in sin. When on shore, he passed his time in haunts of
+dissipation. And several years rolled on in this way, he growing more
+hardened, and his aged parents, in their loneliness, weeping over the
+ruin of their guilty and wandering son.
+
+One day an armed vessel sailed into one of the principal ports of the
+United States, accompanied by another, which had been captured. When
+they arrived at the wharf, it was found that the vessel taken was a
+pirate. Multitudes flocked down upon the wharf to see the pirates as
+they should be led off to the prison, there to await their trial. Soon
+they were brought out of the ship, with their hands fastened with
+chains, and led through the streets. Ashamed to meet the looks of
+honest men, and terrified with the certainty of condemnation and
+execution, they walked along with downcast eyes and trembling limbs.
+Among the number was seen the unhappy and guilty boy, now grown to
+be a young man, whose history we are relating. He was locked up in
+the dismal dungeon of a prison. The day of trial came. Pale and
+trembling; he was brought before the judge. He was clearly proved
+guilty, and sentenced to be hung. Again he was carried back to his
+prison, there to remain till the hour for his execution should
+arrive. News was sent to his already broken-hearted parents, that
+their son had been condemned as a pirate, and was soon to be hung.
+The tidings was almost too much for them to endure. In an agony of
+feeling which cannot be described, they wept together. They thought
+of the hours of their child's infancy, when they watched over him in
+sickness, and soothed him to sleep. They thought how happy they felt
+when they saw the innocent smile play upon his childish cheek. They
+thought of the joy they then anticipated in his opening years, and of
+the comfort they hoped he would be to them in their declining days.
+And now to think of him, a hardened criminal, in the murderer's
+cell!-- Oh, it was too much, too much for them to bear. It seemed as
+though their hearts would burst. Little did they think, when, with
+so much affection they caressed their infant child, that he would be
+the curse of their life, embittering all their days, and bringing
+down their gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. Little did they
+think, that his first trifling acts of disobedience would lead on to
+such a career of misery and of crime, But the son was sentenced to
+die, and the penalty of the law could not be avoided. His own remorse
+and his parents' tears could be of no avail. Agonizing as it would be
+to their feelings, they felt that they must go and see their son
+before he should die.
+
+One morning, a gray-headed man, and an aged and infirm woman, were
+seen walking along, with faltering footsteps, through the street which
+led to the prison. It was the heart-broken father and mother of this
+unnatural child. When they came in sight of the gloomy granite walls
+and iron-grated windows of this dreary abode, they could hardly
+proceed, so overwhelming were the feelings which pressed upon their
+minds. When arrived at the door of the prison, the aged father,
+supporting upon his arm the weeping and almost fainting mother, told
+the jailer who they were, and requested permission to see their son.
+Even the jailer, accustomed as he was to scenes of suffering, could
+not witness this exhibition of parental grief without being moved to
+tears. He led the parents through the stone galleries of the prison,
+till they came to the iron door of the cell in which their son was
+confined. As he turned the key with all his strength, the heavy bolt
+flew back, and he opened the door of the cell. Oh, what a sight for a
+father and a mother to gaze upon! There was just enough light in this
+gloomy abode to show them their son, sitting in the corner on the
+stone floor, pale and emaciated, and loaded with chains. The moment
+the father beheld the pallid features of his long-absent son, he
+raised his hands in the agony of his feelings, and fell fainting at
+his feet. The mother burst into loud exclamations of grief, as she
+clasped her son, guilty and wretched as he was, to her maternal
+bosom. Oh, who can describe this scene! Who can conceive the anguish
+which wrung the hearts of these afflicted parents! And it was their
+own boy, whom they had loved and cherished, who had brought all this
+wo upon them. I cannot describe to you the scene which ensued. Even
+the very jailer could not bear it, and he wept aloud. At last he was
+compelled to tear the parents away; and it was agonizing indeed to
+leave their son in such a situation, soon to be led to an ignominious
+death. They would gladly have staid and died with their guilty child.
+But it was necessary that they should depart; and, the jailer having
+closed the door and turned the massive bolt, they left the unhappy
+criminal in his cell. Oh, what would he have given, again to be
+innocent and free! The parents returned to their home, to weep by day
+and by night, and to have the image of their guilty son disturbing
+every moment of peace, and preventing the possibility of joy. The day
+of execution soon arrived, and their son was led to the gallows, and
+launched into eternity. And, crimsoned with guilt, he went to the
+bar of God, there to answer for all the crimes of which he had been
+guilty, and for all the woes he had caused.
+
+You see, then, how great are your responsibilities as a child. You
+have thought, perhaps, that you have no power over your parents, and
+that you are not accountable for the sorrow which your conduct may
+cause them. Think you that God will hold this child guiltless for all
+the sorrow he caused his father and his mother? And think you God will
+hold any child guiltless, who shall, by his misconduct, make his
+parents unhappy? No. You must answer to God for every thing you do,
+which gives your parents pain. And there is no sin greater in the
+sight of God than that of an ungrateful child, I have shown you, in
+the two illustrations which you have just read, how much the
+happiness of your parents depends upon your conduct. Every day you
+are promoting their joy or their sorrow. And every act of
+disobedience, or of ingratitude, however trifling it may appear to
+you, is, in the eyes of your Maker, a sin which cannot pass
+unnoticed. Do you ask, Why does God consider the ingratitude of
+children as a sin of peculiar aggravation? I reply, Because you are
+under peculiar obligation to love and obey your parents. They have
+loved you when you could not love them. They have taken care of you
+when you could not reward them. They have passed sleepless nights in
+listening to your cries, and weary days in watching over you, when
+you could neither express thanks nor feel grateful. And after they
+have done all this, is it a small sin for you to disobey them and
+make them unhappy?
+
+And indeed you can do nothing to make yourself so unhappy as to
+indulge in disobedience, and to cherish a spirit of ingratitude. You
+never see such a child happy. Look at him at home, and, instead of
+being light-hearted and cheerful, he is sullen and morose. He sits
+down by the fireside in a winter evening, but the evening fireside
+affords no joy to him. He knows that his parents are grieved at his
+conduct. He loves nobody, and feels that nobody loves him. There he
+sits silent and sad, making himself miserable by his own misconduct.
+The disobedient boy or girl is always unhappy. You know how different
+the dispositions of children are. Some are always pleasant and
+obliging, and you love their company. They seem happy when they are
+with you, and they make you happy. Now you will almost always find,
+that such children are obedient to their parents. They are happy at
+home, as well as abroad. God has in almost every case connected
+enjoyment with duty, and sorrow with sin. But in no case is this
+connection more intimate, than in the duty which children owe their
+parents. And to every child who reads this book, I would say, If you
+wish to be happy, you must be good. Do remember this. Let no
+temptation induce you for a moment to disobey. The more ardently you
+love your parents, the more ardently will they love you. But if you
+are ungrateful and disobedient, childhood will pass away in sorrow;
+all the virtuous will dislike you, and you will have no friends worth
+possessing. When you arrive at mature age, and enter upon the active
+duty of life, you will have acquired those feelings which will
+deprive you of the affection of your fellow beings, and you will
+probably go through the world unbeloved and unrespected. Can you be
+willing so to live?
+
+The following account, written by one who, many years after her
+mother's death, visited her grave, forcibly describes the feelings
+which the remembrance of the most trifling act of ingratitude will,
+under such circumstances, awaken.
+
+"It was thirteen years since my mother's death, when, after a long
+absence from my native village, I stood beside the sacred mound,
+beneath which I had seen her buried. Since that mournful period, a
+great change had come over me. My childish years had passed away, and
+with them my youthful character. The world was altered too; and as I
+stood at my mother's grave, I could hardly realize, that I was the
+same thoughtless, happy creature, whose cheeks she so often kissed in
+an excess of tenderness. But the varied events of thirteen years had
+not effaced the remembrance of that mother's smile. It seemed as if I
+had seen her but yesterday--as the blessed sound of her well-
+remembered voice was in my ear. The gay dreams of my infancy and
+childhood were brought back so distinctly to my mind, that, had it
+not been for one bitter recollection, the tears I shed would have
+been gentle and refreshing. The circumstance may seem a trifling one,
+but the thought of it now pains my heart, and I relate it, that those
+children who have parents to love them may learn to value them as
+they ought.
+
+"My mother had been ill a long time, and I became so accustomed to her
+pale face and weak voice, that I was not frightened at them, as
+children usually are. At first, it is true, I sobbed violently; but
+when, day after day, I returned from school, and found her the same, I
+began to believe she would always be spared to me. But they told me
+she would die.
+
+"One day, when I had lost my place in the class, and had done my work
+wrong side outward, I came home discouraged and fretful. I went to my
+mother's chamber. She was paler than usual, but she met me with the
+same affectionate smile that always welcomed my return. Alas, when I
+look back through the lapse of thirteen years, I think my heart must
+have been stone not to have melted by it. She requested me to go down
+stairs and bring her a glass of water. I pettishly asked why she did
+not call a domestic to do it. With a look of mild reproach, which I
+shall never forget, if I live to be a hundred years old, she said,
+'And will not my daughter bring a glass of water for her poor sick
+mother?'
+
+"I went and brought her the water, but I did not do it kindly. Instead
+of smiling and kissing her, as I was wont to do, I set the glass down
+very quickly, and left the room. After playing about a short time, I
+went to bed without bidding my mother good night. But when alone in
+my room, in darkness and in silence, I remembered how pale she
+looked, and how her voice trembled when she said, 'Will not my
+daughter bring a glass of water for her poor sick mother?' I could
+not, sleep. I stole into her chamber to ask forgiveness. She had sunk
+into an easy slumber, and they told me I must not waken her. I did
+not tell any one what troubled me, but stole back to my bed, resolved
+to rise early in the morning, and tell her how sorry I was for my
+conduct.
+
+
+
+"The sun was shining brightly when I awoke: and, hurrying on my
+clothes, I hastened to my mother's chamber. She was dead! She never
+spoke more--never smiled upon me again and when I touched the hand
+that used to rest upon my head in blessing, it was so cold that it
+made me start. I bowed down by her side, and sobbed in the bitterness
+of my heart. I thought then I might wish to die, and be buried with
+her, and, old as I now am, I would give worlds, were they mine to
+give, could my mother but have lived to tell me that she forgave my
+childish ingratitude. But I cannot call her back; and when I stand by
+her grave, and whenever I think of her manifold kindness, the memory
+of that reproachful look she gave me will bite like a serpent and
+sting like an adder."
+
+And when your mother dies, do you not think that you will feel remorse
+for every unkind word you have uttered, and for every act of
+ingratitude? Your beloved parents must soon die. You will probably be
+led into their darkened chamber, to see them pale and helpless on
+their dying bed. Oh, how will you feel in that solemn hour! All your
+past life will come to your mind, and you will think that you would
+give worlds, if you could blot out the remembrance of past
+ingratitude. You will think that, if your father or mother should
+only get well, you would never do any thing to grieve them again. But
+the hour for them to die must come. You may weep as though your heart
+would break, but it will not recall the past, and it will not delay
+their death. They must die; and you will probably gaze upon their
+cold and lifeless countenances in the coffin. You will follow them to
+the grave, and see them buried for ever from your sight. Oh, how
+unhappy you will feel, if you then have to reflect upon your
+misconduct! The tears you will shed over their graves will be the
+more bitter, because you will feel that, perhaps, your own misconduct
+hastened their death.
+
+But perhaps you will die before your parents do. If you go into the
+grave-yard, you will see the graves of many children. You know that
+the young are liable to die, as well as the old. And what must be
+the feelings of the dying child, who knows that he is going to appear
+before God in judgment, and yet feels conscious that he has been
+unkind to his parents! Oh, such a child must fear to go into the
+presence of his Maker. He must know that God will never receive into
+heaven children who have been so wicked. I have seen many children
+die. And I have seen some, who had been very amiable and pleasant all
+their lives, when they came to die, feel grieved that they had not
+been more careful to make their parents happy. I knew one
+affectionate little girl, who was loved by all who knew her. She
+hardly ever did any thing which was displeasing to her parents. But
+one day she was taken sick. The doctor was called: but she grew worse
+and worse. Her parents watched over her with anxiety and tears, but
+still her fever raged, and death drew nearer. At last all hopes of
+her recovery were over, and it was known that she must die. Then did
+this little girl, when she felt that she must leave her parents for
+ever, mourn that she had ever done any thing to give them pain. The
+most trifling act of disobedience, and the least unkindness of which
+she had ever been guilty, then came fresh into her mind, and she
+could not die in peace, till she had called her father and her mother
+to her bedside, and implored their forgiveness. If so obliging and
+affectionate a little girl as this felt so deeply in view of the
+past, when called upon to die, how agonizing must be the feelings
+which will crowd upon the heart of the wicked and disobedient child
+who has filled her parents' heart with sorrow!
+
+But you must also remember, that there is a day of judgment to come.
+You must appear before God to answer for every thing you have done or
+thought while in this world. Oh, how will the ungrateful child then
+feel! Heaven will be before him, in all its beauty and bliss, but he
+cannot enter.
+
+
+"Those holy gates for ever bar
+Pollution, sin and shame."
+
+
+He has, by his ingratitude, made a home on earth unhappy, and God will
+not permit him to destroy the happiness of the homes in heaven.
+
+He will see all the angels in their holiness and their joy, but he
+cannot be permitted to join that blessed throng. With his ungrateful
+heart he would but destroy their enjoyment. The frown of God must be
+upon him, and he must depart to that wretched world where all the
+wicked are assembled. There he must live in sorrows which have no end.
+Oh, children, how great are your responsibilities! The happiness of
+your parents depends upon your conduct. And your ingratitude may fill
+your lives with sorrow, and your eternity with wo. Will you not, then,
+read this book with care, and pray that God will aid you to obey its
+directions, that your homes on earth may be joyful, and that you may
+be prepared for happier homes beyond the stars?
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+
+DECEPTION.
+
+
+
+Probably nearly all who read this book have heard the story of George
+Washington and his hatchet.
+
+George, when a little boy, had received from his father a hatchet, and
+he, much pleased with his present, walked around the house trying its
+keen edge upon every thing which came within his reach. At last he
+came to a favorite pear-tree of his father's, and began, with great
+dexterity, to try his skill in felling trees. After hacking upon the
+bark until he had completely ruined the tree, he became tired, and
+went into the house. Before long, his father, passing by, beheld his
+beautiful tree entirely ruined; and, entering the house, he earnestly
+asked who had been guilty of the destruction. For a moment George
+trembled and hesitated. He was strongly tempted to deny that he knew
+any thing about it. But summoning all his courage, he replied,
+"Father, I cannot tell a lie. I cut it with my hatchet." His father
+clasped him to his arms, and said, "My dear boy, I would rather lose
+a thousand trees than have my son a liar."
+
+This little anecdote shows that George Washington, when a boy, was
+too brave and noble to tell a lie. He had rather be punished than be
+so mean and degraded as to utter a falsehood. He did wrong to cut the
+pear-tree, though, perhaps, he did not know the extent of the injury
+he was doing. But had he denied that he did it, he would have been a
+cowardly and disgraceful liar. His father would have been ashamed of
+him, and would never have known when to believe him. If little George
+Washington had told a lie then, it is by no means improbable that he
+would have gone on from falsehood to falsehood, till every body
+would have despised him. And he would thus have become a disgrace to
+his parents and friends, instead of a blessing to his country and the
+world. No boy, who has one particle of that noble spirit which George
+Washington had, will tell a lie. It is one of the most degrading of
+sins. There is no one who does not regard a liar with contempt.
+Almost always, when a lie is told, two sins are committed. The first
+is, the child has done something which he knows to be wrong. And the
+second is, that he has not courage enough to admit it, and tells a
+lie to hide his fault. And therefore, when a child tells a lie, you
+may always know that that child is a coward. George Washington was a
+brave man. When duty called him, he feared not to meet danger and
+death. He would march to the mouth of the cannon in the hour of
+battle; he would ride through the field when bullets were flying in
+every direction, and strewing the ground with the dead, and not a
+nerve would tremble. Now, we see that George Washington was brave
+when a boy, as well as when a man. He scorned to tell a lie, and,
+like a noble-hearted boy, as he was, he honestly avowed the truth.
+Every body admires courage, and every body despises cowardice. The
+liar, whether he be a boy or a man, is looked upon with disgust.
+
+Cases will occur in which you will be strongly tempted to say that
+which is false. But if you yield to the temptation, how can you help
+despising yourself? A little girl once came into the house and told
+her mother something which was very improbable. Those who were
+sitting in the room with her mother did not believe her, for they did
+not know the character of the little girl. But the mother replied at
+once, "I have no doubt that it is true, for I never knew my daughter
+to tell a lie." Is there not something noble in having such a
+character as this? Must not that little girl have felt happy in the
+consciousness of thus possessing her mother's entire confidence? Oh,
+how different must have been her feelings from those of the child
+whose word cannot be believed, and who is regarded by every one with
+suspicion! Shame, shame on the child who has not magnanimity enough
+to tell the truth.
+
+God will not allow such sins to go unpunished. Even in this world the
+consequences are generally felt. God has given every person a
+conscience, which approves that which is right, and condemns that
+which is wrong. When we do any thing wrong, our consciences punish
+us for it, and we are unhappy. When we do any thing that is right,
+the approval of conscience is a reward. Every day you feel the power
+of this conscience approving or condemning what you do. Sometimes a
+person thinks that if he does wrong, and it is not found out, he
+will escape punishment. But it is not so. He will be punished whether
+it is found out or not. Conscience will punish him if no one else
+does.
+
+There was once a boy whose father sent him to ride a few miles upon
+an errand, and told him particularly not to stop by the way. It was
+a beautiful and sunny morning in the spring; and as he rode along by
+the green fields, and heard the singing of the birds as they flew
+from tree to tree, he felt as light-hearted and as happy as they.
+After doing his errand, however, as he was returning by the house
+where two of his friends and playmates lived, he thought he could not
+resist the temptation just to call a moment to see them. He thought
+there would be no great harm if he merely stopped a minute or two,
+and his parents would never know it. Here commenced his sin. He
+stopped, and was led to remain longer and longer, till he found he
+had passed two hours in play. Then, with a troubled conscience, he
+mounted his horse, and set his face towards home. The fields looked
+as green, and the skies as bright and cloudless, as when he rode
+along in the morning; but, oh, how different were his feelings! Then
+he was innocent and happy; now he was guilty and wretched. He tried
+to feel easy, but he could not; conscience reproached him with his
+sin. He rode sadly along, thinking what excuse he should make
+to his parents for his long absence, when he saw his father, at a
+distance, coming to meet him. His father, fearing that some accident
+had happened, left home in search of his son. The boy trembled and
+turned pale as he saw him approaching, and hesitated whether he had
+better confess the truth at once, and ask forgiveness, or endeavor to
+hide the crime with a lie. Oh, how much better it would have been for
+him if he had acknowledged the truth! How much sooner would he have
+been restored to peace! But one sin almost always leads to another.
+When this kind father met his son with a smile, the boy said, "Father,
+I lost the road, and it took me some time to get back again, and that
+is the reason why I have been gone so long."
+
+His father had never known him to be guilty of falsehood before, and
+was so happy to find his son safe, that he did not doubt what he said
+was true. But, oh, how guilty, and ashamed, and wretched, did that boy
+feel, as he rode along! His peace of mind was destroyed. A heavy
+weight of conscious guilt pressed upon his heart. The boy went home
+and repeated the lie to his mother. It is always thus when we turn
+from the path of duty; we know not how widely we shall wander. Having
+committed one fault, he told a lie to conceal it, and then added sin
+to sin, by repeating and persisting in his falsehood. What a change
+had one short half day produced in the character and the happiness of
+this child! His parent had not yet detected him in his sin, but he
+was not, on that account, free from punishment. Conscience was at
+work, telling him that he was degraded and guilty, His look of
+innocence and his lightness of heart had left him. He was ashamed to
+look his father or mother in the face. He tried to appear easy and
+happy, but he was uneasy and miserable. A heavy load of conscious
+guilt rested upon him, which destroyed all his peace.
+
+When he retired to bed that night, he feared the dark. It was long
+before he could quiet his troubled spirit with sleep. And when he
+awoke in the morning, the consciousness of his guilt had not
+forsaken him. There it remained fixed deep in his heart, and would
+allow him no peace. He was guilty, and of course wretched. The first
+thought which occurred to him, on waking, was the lie of the
+preceding day. He could not forget it. He was afraid to go into the
+room where his parents were, lest they should discover, by his
+appearance, that he had been doing something wrong. And though, as
+weeks passed away, the acuteness of his feelings in some degree
+abated, he was all the time disquieted and unhappy. He was
+continually fearing that something would occur which should lead to
+his detection.
+
+Thus things went on for several weeks, till, one day, the gentleman at
+whose house he stopped called at his father's on business. So soon
+as this boy saw him come into the house, his heart beat violently,
+and he turned pale with the fear that something would be said that
+would bring the whole truth to light. The gentleman, after conversing
+a few moments with his father, turned to the little boy, and said,
+"Well, how did you get home the other day? My boys had a very
+pleasant visit from you." Can you imagine how the boy felt? You could
+almost have heard his heart beat. The blood rushed into his face, and
+he could not speak; and he dared not raise his eyes from the floor.
+The gentleman then turned to his parents, and said, "You must let
+your son come up again and see my boys. They were quite disappointed
+when he was there a few weeks ago, for he only staid about two hours,
+and they hoped he had come to spend the whole day with them." There,
+the whole truth was out. And how do you suppose that boy felt? He had
+disobeyed his parents; told a lie to conceal it; had for weeks
+suffered the pangs of a guilty conscience; and now the whole truth
+was discovered. He stood before his parents overwhelmed with shame,
+convicted of disobedience, and mean, degraded falsehood.
+
+This boy was all the time suffering the consequences of his sin. For
+many days he was enduring the reproaches of conscience, when the
+knowledge of his crime was confined to his own bosom. How bitterly
+did he suffer for the few moments of forbidden pleasure he had
+enjoyed! The way of the transgressor is always hard. Every child who
+does wrong must, to a greater or less degree, feel the same sorrows.
+This guilty child, overwhelmed with confusion and disgrace, burst
+into tears, and implored his parents' forgiveness. But he was told by
+his parents that he had sinned, not only against them, but against
+God. The humble child went to God in penitence and in prayer. He made
+a full confession of all to his parents, and obtained their
+forgiveness; and it was not till then that peace of mind was restored.
+
+Will not the child who reads this account take warning from it? If
+you have done wrong, you had better confess it at once. Falsehood will
+but increase your sin, and aggravate your sorrow. Whenever you are
+tempted to say that which is untrue, look forward to the consequences.
+Think how much sorrow, and shame, and sin, you will bring upon
+yourself. Think of the reproaches of conscience; for you may depend
+upon it, that those reproaches are not easily borne.
+
+And is it pleasant to have the reputation of a liar? When persons are
+detected in one falsehood, they cannot be believed when they speak the
+truth. No person can place any more confidence in them till a long
+time of penitence has elapsed, in which they have had an opportunity
+to manifest their amendment. The little boy, whose case we have above
+alluded to, was sincerely penitent for his sin. He resolved that he
+never would tell another lie. But since he had deceived his parents
+once, their confidence in him was necessarily for a time destroyed.
+They could judge of the reality of his penitence only by his future
+conduct. One day he was sent to a store to purchase some small
+articles for his mother. In his haste, he forgot to stop for the few
+cents of change which he ought to have received. Upon his return
+home, his mother inquired for the change. He had not thought a word
+about it before, and very frankly told her, that he had forgotten it
+entirely. How did his mother know that he was telling the truth? She
+had just detected him in one lie, and feared that he was now telling
+her another. "I hope, my dear son," she said, "you are not again
+deceiving me." The boy was perfectly honest this time, and his
+parents had never before distrusted his word. It almost broke his
+heart to be thus suspected, but he felt that it was just, and went to
+his chamber and wept bitterly. These are the necessary consequences
+of falsehood. A liar can never be believed. It matters not whether he
+tells truth or falsehood, no one can trust his word. If you are ever
+tempted to tell a lie, first ask yourself whether you are willing to
+have it said that nobody can trust your word. The liar is always
+known to be such. A person may possibly tell a lie which shall not be
+detected, but, almost always something happens which brings it to
+light. The boy who stopped to play when on an errand two miles from
+his father's house, thought that his falsehood would never be
+discovered. But he was detected, and overwhelmed with shame.
+
+It is impossible for a person who is in the habit of uttering
+untruths to escape detection. Your character for truth or falsehood
+will be known. And what can be more humiliating and degrading than to
+have the name of a liar? It is so considered in all nations and with
+all people. It is considered one of the meanest and most cowardly
+vices of which one can be guilty. The liar is always a coward. He
+tells lies, because he is afraid to tell the truth.
+
+And how do you suppose the liar must feel when he comes to die? It
+is a solemn hour. Perhaps many of the children who read this book
+have never seen a person die. I have seen many. I have seen children
+of all ages dressed in the shroud and placed in the coffin. I might
+write pages in describing to you such scenes. One day, I went to see
+a little girl about ten years of age, who was very sick. When I went
+into the room, she was lying upon the little cot-bed, her lips
+parched with fever, and her face pale and emaciated with suffering.
+Her mother was standing by her bed-side, weeping as though her heart
+would break. Other friends were standing around, looking in vain for
+something to do to relieve the little sufferer. I went and took her
+by the hand, and found that she was dying. She raised her languid
+eyes to me, but could not speak. Her breathing grew fainter and
+fainter. Her arms and limbs grew cold. We could only look mournfully
+on and see the advances of death, without being able to do any thing
+to stop its progress. At last she ceased to breathe. Her spirit
+ascended to God to be judged, and her body remained upon the bed, a
+cold and lifeless corpse. All children are exposed to death; and when
+you least expect it, you may be called to lie upon a bed of sickness,
+and go down to the grave. There is nothing to give one joy in such an
+hour, but a belief that our sins are forgiven, and that we are going
+to the heavenly home. But how must a child feel in such an hour, when
+reflecting upon falsehoods which are recorded in God's book of
+remembrance! Death is terrible to the impenitent sinner; but it is a
+messenger of love and of mercy to those who are prepared to die. If
+you have been guilty of a falsehood, you cannot, die in peace till
+you have repented and obtained forgiveness.
+
+There was a little girl eleven years of age, who died a few months
+ago. She loved the Savior, and when told that she could not live, was
+very happy. She said she was happy to die, and go home and be with
+her Savior and the angels in heaven. But there was one thing, which,
+for a time, weighed heavily upon her mind. A year or two before she
+felt interested in religion she had told a lie to her aunt; and she
+could not die in peace, till she had seen that aunt, confessed her
+sin, and asked forgiveness. Her aunt was sent for, though she was
+many miles distant. When her aunt came, the sick little girl, with
+sorrow for her fault, made confession, and asked forgiveness, "Aunt,"
+said she, "I have prayed to God, and hope that he has forgiven me;
+and I cannot die in peace till I have obtained your forgiveness." If
+any child who reads this book is tempted to deceive his parents or
+his friends, I hope he will remember that he must soon die, and think
+how he will feel in that solemn hour.
+
+But perhaps you think that the falsehood of which this girl was guilty
+was one of peculiar aggravation. It was simply this: She was one day
+playing in the room with several little children, and was making them
+laugh very loud. Her aunt said, "My dear, you must not make them
+laugh so loud."
+
+And she replied, "It is not I, aunt, who makes them laugh."
+
+This was the falsehood she uttered. And though her aunt did not know
+that it was false, the little girl did, and God in heaven did. And
+when she came to die, though it was a year or two after, her soul was
+troubled, and the consciousness of her sin destroyed her peace. A lie
+is, in the sight of God, a dreadful sin, be it ever so trifling in our
+estimation. When we are just ready to leave the world, and to appear
+before God in judgment, the convictions of a guilty conscience will
+press upon the heart like lead.
+
+There are many ways of being guilty of falsehood without uttering
+the lie direct in words. Whenever you try to deceive your parents, in
+doing  that which you know they disapprove, you do, in reality, tell
+a lie. Conscience reproves you for falsehood. Once, when I was in
+company, as the plate of cake was passed round, a little boy, who sat
+by the side of his mother, took a much larger piece than he knew she
+would allow him to have. She happened, for the moment, to be looking
+away, and he broke a small piece off and covered the rest in his lap
+with his handkerchief. When his mother looked, she saw the small
+piece, and supposed he had taken no more. He intended to deceive her.
+His mother has never found out what he did. But God saw him, and
+frowned upon him, as he committed this sin. And do you not think that
+the boy has already suffered for it? Must he not feel mean and
+contemptible whenever he thinks that, merely to get a little bit of
+cake, he would deceive his kind mother? If that little boy had one
+particle of honorable or generous feeling remaining in his bosom, he
+would feel reproached and unhappy whenever he thought of his
+meanness. If he was already dead to shame, it would show that he had
+by previous deceit acquired this character. And can any one love or
+esteem a child who has become so degraded? And can a child, who is
+neither beloved nor respected, be happy? No! You may depend upon it,
+that when you see a person guilty of such deceit, he does in some way
+or other, even in this world, suffer a severe penalty. A frank and
+open-hearted child is the only happy child. Deception, however
+skilfully it may be practised, is disgraceful, and ensures sorrow and
+contempt. If you would have the approbation of your own conscience,
+and the approval of friends, never do that which you shall desire to
+have concealed. Always be open as the day. Be above deceit, and then
+you will have nothing to fear. There is something delightful in the
+magnanimity of a perfectly sincere and honest child. No person can
+look upon such a one without affection. You are sure of friends, and
+your prospects of earthly usefulness and happiness are bright.
+
+But we must not forget that there is a day of most solemn judgment
+near at hand. When you die, your body will be wrapped in the shroud,
+and placed in the coffin, and buried in the grave; and there it will
+remain and moulder to the dust, while the snows of unnumbered
+winters, and the tempests of unnumbered summers, shall rest upon the
+cold earth which covers you. But your spirit will not be there. Far
+away, beyond the cloudless skies, and blazing suns, and twinkling
+stars, it will have gone to judgment. How awful must be the scene
+which will open before you, as you enter the eternal world! You will
+see the throne of God: how bright, how glorious, will it burst upon
+your sight! You will see God the Savior seated upon that majestic
+throne. Angels, in numbers more than can be counted, will fill the
+universe with their glittering wings, and their rapturous songs. Oh,
+what a scene to behold! And then you will stand in the presence of
+this countless throng to answer for every thing you have done while
+you lived. Every action and every thought of your life will then be
+fresh in your mind. You know it is written in the Bible, "God will
+bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it
+be good or whether it be evil." How must the child then feel who has
+been guilty of falsehood and deception, and has it then all brought
+to light! No liar can enter the kingdom of heaven. Oh, how dreadful
+must be the confusion and shame with which the deceitful child will
+then be overwhelmed! The angels will all see your sin and your
+disgrace. And do you think they will wish to have a liar enter
+heaven, to be associated with them? No! They must turn from you with
+disgust. The Savior will look upon you in his displeasure. Conscience
+will rend your soul. And you must hear the awful sentence, "Depart
+from me, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his
+angels." Oh, it is a dreadful thing to practice deceit. It will shut
+you from heaven. It will confine you in eternal wo. Though you should
+escape detection as long as you live; though you should die, and your
+falsehood not be discovered, the time will soon come when it will
+all be brought to light, and when the whole universe of men and of
+angels will be witnesses of your shame. If any child who reads this
+feels condemned for past deception, oh, beware, and do not postpone
+repentance till the day of judgment shall arrive. Go at once to those
+whom you have deceived, and make confession, and implore forgiveness.
+Then go to your Savior, fall upon your knees before him; pray that he
+will pardon you, and promise to sin no more. If your prayer is
+offered in sincerity, and your resolution remains unbroken, the
+Savior will forgive you; and when the trump of the archangel shall
+summon you to judgment, he will give you a home in heaven. The tear
+of sincere penitence our kind Saviour is ever ready to accept.
+
+If you are ever tempted to deceive, O, remember, that your deception
+must soon be known. It is utterly impossible that it should long
+remain undetected. The moment the day of judgment arrives, your heart
+will be open to the view of the universe, and every thought will be
+publicly known. How much safer then is it to be sincere and honest!
+Strive to preserve your heart free from guile. Then you will have
+peace of conscience. You will fear no detection. You can lie down at
+night in peace. You can awake in the morning with joy. Trusting in
+the Saviour for acceptance, you can die happy. And when the morning
+of the resurrection dawns upon you, your heart will be filled with a
+joy which earth's sunniest mornings and brightest skies never could
+afford. The Saviour will smile upon you. Angels will welcome you to
+heaven. You will rove, in inexpressible delight, through the green
+pastures of that blissful abode. You will lie down by the still
+waters where there is sweet repose for ever. Oh, what an hour of
+bliss must that be, when the child, saved from sin and sorrow,
+
+"Has reached the shore
+Where tempests never beat nor billows roar!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+
+OBEDIENCE.
+
+
+
+In the chapters you have now read, I have endeavored to show you how
+much your own happiness, and that of your parents, depend upon your
+conduct. And I trust every child who has read thus far, has resolved
+to do all in his power to promote the happiness of those who have
+been so kind to him. But you will find that it is a very different
+thing to resolve to do your duty, from what it is to perform your
+resolutions when the hour of temptation comes. It requires courage
+and firmness to do right, when you are surrounded by those who urge
+you to do wrong. Temptations to do wrong will be continually arising;
+and, unless you have resolution to brave ridicule, and to refuse
+solicitation, you will be continually led into trouble. I knew a
+young man who was ruined entirely, because he had not courage enough
+to say no. He was, when a boy, very amiable in his disposition, and
+did not wish to make any person unhappy; but he had no mind of his
+own, and could be led about by his associates into almost any
+difficulties, or any sins. If, in a clear moonlight winter evening,
+his father told him he might go out doors, and slide down the hill
+for half an hour, he would resolve to be obedient and return home at
+the time appointed. But if there were other boys there, who should
+tease him to remain longer he had not the courage to refuse. And thus
+he would disobey his kind parents because he had not courage to do
+his duty. He began in this way, and so he continued. One day, a bad
+boy asked him to go into a store, and drink some brandy. He knew it
+was wrong, and did not wish to go. But he feared that, if he did not,
+he would be laughed at; and so he went. Having thus yielded to this
+temptation, he was less prepared for temptation again. He went to the
+bottle with one and another, till at last he became intemperate, and
+would stagger through the streets. He fell into the company of
+gamblers, because he could not refuse their solicitations. He thus
+became a gambler himself, and went on from step to step, never having
+resolution to say no, till he ruined himself, and planted within him
+the seeds of disease, which hurried him to a premature grave. He died
+the miserable victim of his own irresolution.
+
+Thousands have been thus ruined. They are amiable in disposition, and
+in general mean well, but have not courage to do their duty. They fear
+that others will laugh at them. Now, unless you are sufficiently brave
+not to care if others do laugh at you; unless you have sufficient
+courage to say no, when others tempt you to do wrong, you will be
+always in difficulty: such a person never can be happy or respected.
+You must not expect it will be always easy to do your duty. At times
+it will require a great mental struggle, and call into exercise all
+the resolution you possess. It is best that it should be so, that you
+may acquire firmness of character and strength of integrity. Near a
+school-house in the country, there was an apple-tree. One summer it
+was covered with hard, and sour, and green apples, and the little
+girls who went to that school could hardly resist the temptation of
+eating those apples, though they knew there was danger of its making
+them sick. One girl, who went to that school, was expressly forbidden
+by her mother from eating them. But when all her playmates were
+around her, with the apples in their hands, and urging her to eat,
+telling her that her mother never would know it, she wickedly yielded
+to their solicitation. She felt guilty, as, in disobedience to her
+mother's commands, she ate the forbidden fruit. But she tried to
+appease her conscience by thinking that it could do no harm. Having
+thus commenced disobedience, she could every day eat more freely, and
+with less reluctance. At last she was taken sick. Her mother asked
+her if she had been eating any of the green apples at school. Here
+came another temptation to sin. When we once commence doing wrong,
+it is impossible to tell where we shall stop. She was afraid to
+acknowledge to her mother her disobedience; and to hide the fault she
+told a lie. She declared that she had not eaten any of the apples.
+Unhappy girl! she had first disobeyed her mother, and then told a lie
+to conceal her sin. But she continually grew more sick, and it became
+necessary to send for the physician. He came, and when he had looked
+upon her feverish countenance, and felt her throbbing pulse, he said
+there was something upon her stomach which must be removed. As he was
+preparing the nauseous emetic, the conscience-smitten girl trembled
+for fear that her disobedience and her falsehood should both be
+brought to light. As soon as the emetic operated, her mother saw, in
+the half-chewed fragments of green apples, the cause of her sickness.
+What could the unhappy and guilty girl say? Denial was now, of
+course, out of the question. She could only cover her face with her
+hands, in the vain attempt to hide her shame. We hope that this
+detection and mortification will teach that little girl a lesson
+which she will never forget. And we hope that the relation of the
+story will induce every child, who reads it, to guard against
+temptation, and boldly to resist every allurement to sin. Temptations
+will be continually coming, which you will find it hard to resist.
+But if you once yield, you have entered that downward path which
+leads inevitably to sorrow and shame. How much wiser would it have
+been in the little girl, whose story we have just related, if she had
+in the first instance resolutely refused to disobey her mother's
+command! How much happier would she have been, when retiring to sleep
+at night, if she had the joy of an approving conscience, and could,
+with a grateful heart, ask the blessing of God! The only path of
+safety and happiness is implicit obedience. If you, in the slightest
+particular, yield to temptation, and do that which you know to be
+wrong, you will not know when or where to stop. To hide one crime,
+you will be guilty of another; and thus you will draw down upon
+yourself the frown of your Maker, and expose yourself to sorrow for
+time and eternity.
+
+And think not that these temptations to do wrong will be few or
+feeble. Hardly a day will pass in which you will not be tempted,
+either through indolence to neglect your duty, or to do that which
+you know your parents will disapprove. A few years ago, two little
+boys went to pass the afternoon and evening at the house of one of
+their playmates, who had a party, to celebrate his birth-day. Their
+parents told them to come home at eight o'clock in the evening. It
+was a beautiful afternoon, late in the autumn, as the large party of
+boys assembled at the house of their friend. Numerous barns and
+sheds were attached to the house, and a beautiful grove of beach and
+of oak surrounded it, affording a most delightful place for all kinds
+of sport. Never did boys have a more happy time. They climbed the
+tree, and swung upon the limbs, And as they jumped upon the new-made
+hay in the barns, they made the walls ring with their joyous shouts.
+Happiness seemed, for the time, to fill every heart. They continued
+their sports till the sun had gone down behind the hills, and the
+last ray of twilight had disappeared. When it became too dark for
+outdoor play, they went into the house, and commenced new plays in the
+brightly-lighted parlor. As they were in the midst of the exciting
+game of "blind man's buff," some one entered the room, and requested
+them all to take their seats, for apples and nuts were to be brought
+in. Just as the door was opened by the servant bringing in the waiter
+loaded with apples and nuts, the clock struck eight. The boys, who
+had been told to leave at that hour, felt troubled enough. They knew
+not what to do. The temptation to stay was almost too strong to be
+resisted. The older brother of the two faintly whispered to one at
+his side, that he must go. Immediately there was an uproar all over
+the room, each one exclaiming against it.
+
+"Why," said one, "my mother told me I might stay till nine."
+
+"My mother," said another, "did not say any thing about my coming
+home: she will let me stay as long as I want to."
+
+"I would not be tied to my mother's apron-string," said a rude boy, in
+a distant part of the room.
+
+A timid boy, who lived in the next house to the one in which these
+two little boys lived, came up, and said, with a very imploring
+countenance and voice, "I am going home at half past eight. Now do
+stay a little while longer, and then we will go home together. I
+would not go alone, it is so dark."
+
+And even the lady of the house where they were visiting, came to
+them and said, "I do not think your mother will have any objection to
+have you stay a few moments longer, and eat an apple and a few nuts.
+I would have sent them in earlier, if I had known that you wanted to
+go."
+
+Now, what, could these poor boys do? How could they summon
+resolution to resist so much entreaty? For a moment they hesitated,
+and almost yielded to the temptation. But virtue wavered only for a
+moment. They immediately mustered all their courage, and said, "We
+must go." Hastily bidding them all good night, they got their hats as
+quick as they could, for fear, if they delayed, they should yield to
+the temptation, and left the house. They stopped not a moment to look
+back upon the brightly-shining windows, and happy group of boys
+within, but, taking hold of each other's hands, ran as fast as they
+could on their way home. When they arrived at home, their father and
+mother met them with a smile. And when their parents learnt under
+what strong temptations they had been to disobey, and that they had
+triumphed over these temptations, they looked upon their children
+with feelings of gratification, which amply repaid them for all their
+trial. And when these boys went to bed that night, they felt that
+they had done their duty, and that they had given their parents
+pleasure; and these thoughts gave them vastly more happiness than
+they could have enjoyed if they had remained with their playmates
+beyond the hour which their parents had permitted. This was a noble
+proof of their determination to do their duty. And, considering their
+youth and inexperience and the circumstances of the temptation, it
+was one of the severest trials to which they could be exposed.
+Probably, in all their after life, they would not be under stronger
+temptations to swerve from duty. Now, every child will often be
+exposed to similar temptations. And if your resolution be not strong,
+you will yield. And if you once begin to yield, you will never know
+where to stop but, in all probability, will go on from step to step
+till you are for ever lost to virtue and to happiness.
+
+But perhaps some child, who reads this, thinks I make too serious a
+matter of so slight a thing. You say, It cannot make much difference
+whether I come home half an hour earlier or later. But you are
+mistaken here. It does make a great difference. Think you God can
+look upon the disobedience of a child as a trifling sin? Is it a
+trifle to refuse to obey parents who have loved you, and watched over
+you for months and for years; who have taken care of you in sickness,
+and endeavored to relieve you when in pain; who have given you
+clothes to wear, and food to eat, and have done all in their power to
+make you happy? It is inexcusable ingratitude. It is awful sin. But
+perhaps you ask, What positive harm does it do? It teaches your
+parents that their child is unwilling to obey them; and is there no
+harm in that? It makes your parents unhappy; and is there no harm in
+that? It tempts you to disobey in other things; and is there no harm
+in that? It is entering upon that career of sin which led the girl,
+whom we have, in the first chapter, described to you, to the house of
+correction, and the wretched boy to the gallows. Oh, beware how you
+think it is a little thing to disobey your parents! Their happiness
+is in a great degree in your hands; and every thing which you
+knowingly do that disturbs their happiness in the least degree, is
+sin in the sight of God; and you must answer for it at his bar.
+
+If you go into any state prison, you will see a large number of men
+working in silence and in gloom. They are dressed in clothes of
+contrasted colors, that, in case of escape, they may be easily
+detected. But the constant presence of vigilant keepers, and the high
+walls of stone, guarded by an armed sentry, render escape almost
+impossible. There many of these guilty men remain, month after month,
+and year after year, in friendlessness, and in silence, and in
+sorrow. They are in confinement and disgrace. At night, they are
+marched to their solitary cells, there to pass the weary hours, with
+no friend to converse with, and no joy to cheer them. They are left,
+in darkness and in solitude, to their own gloomy reflections. And,
+oh! how many bitter tears must be shed in the midnight darkness of
+those cells! How many an unhappy criminal would give worlds, if he
+had them to give, that he might again be innocent and free! You will
+see in the prison many who are young--almost children. If you go
+around from cell to cell, and inquire how these wretched persons
+commenced their course of sin, very many will tell you that it was
+with disobedience to parents. You will find prisoners there, whose
+parents are most affectionate and kind. They have endeavored to make
+their children virtuous and happy. But, oh! how cruelly have their
+hopes been blasted! A disobedient son has gone from step to step in
+crime, till he has brought himself to the gloomy cell of the prison,
+and has broken his parents' hearts by his disobedience.
+
+The chaplain of the Massachusetts state prison recently communicated
+to the public the following interesting narrative of the progress of
+crime.
+
+"A few weeks since, I addressed the congregation to which I
+minister, on the importance of a strict attention to what are usually
+denominated little things; and remarked, that it is the want of
+attention to these little things, which not unfrequently throws a
+disastrous influence over the whole course of subsequent life. It was
+also further remarked, that a large proportion of the events and
+transactions, which go to make up the lives of most men, are, as they
+are usually estimated, comparatively unimportant and trivial; and
+yet, that all these events and transactions contribute, in a greater
+or less degree, to the formation of character; and that on moral
+character are suspended, essentially, our usefulness and happiness in
+time, and our well-being in eternity.
+
+"I then remarked, that I could not doubt, but, on sober reflection,
+many of that assembly would find that they owed the complexion of a
+great portion of their lives, and their unhappy situation as tenants
+of the state prison, to some event or transaction comparatively
+trivial, and of which, at the time, they thought very little. I
+requested them to make the examination, and see whether the remark I
+had made was not correct.
+
+"This was on the Sabbath. The next morning; one of the prisoners, an
+interesting young man, came to me, and observed, that he should be
+glad to have some conversation with me, whenever I should find it
+convenient. Accordingly, in the afternoon of the same day, I sent for
+him. On his being seated, and my requesting him to state freely what
+he wished to say, he remarked, 'that he wished to let me know how
+peculiarly appropriate to his case were the observations I had made,
+the previous day, on the influence of little things; and if I would
+permit him, he would give me a brief sketch of his history; and,
+particularly, of the transaction, which, almost in childhood, had
+given a disastrous coloring to the whole period of his youth, and, in
+the result, had brought him to be an occupant of his present dreary
+abode.'
+
+"It appears, from the sketch which he gave, that he was about ten
+years of age, when his father moved from a distant part of the state
+to a town in the vicinity of Boston. In this town was a respectable
+boarding-school, not a great distance from the residence of his
+father; and to this school he was sent. Having always lived in the
+country, he had seen very few of those novelties, and parades, and
+shows, which are so common in and near the city; and it is not
+wonderful, that, when they occurred, he should, like most children,
+feel a strong desire to witness them.
+
+"Before he had been long at school, he heard there was to be a
+"Cattle Show" at Brighton. He had never seen a Cattle Show. He
+presumed it must be a very interesting spectacle, and felt a very
+strong desire to attend. This desire, on the morning of the first day
+of the show, he expressed to his father, and was told that it would
+be a very improper place for him to go to, unless attended by some
+suitable person to watch over and take care of him; and that such was
+the business of the father, that he could not accompany him, and, of
+course, his desire could not be gratified. He was sorely
+disappointed, but resolved not to give up, without further effort, an
+object on which his heart was so much set.
+
+"The next morning he beset his father again on the subject. His
+father seemed anxious to have his son gratified, but told him that he
+could by no means consent to have him go to such a place without
+suitable company; and, though his business was urgent, he would try to
+go in the afternoon; and, if he did, he would call at the school-
+house, and take him with him. This was all he could promise.
+
+"But here was an uncertainty, an if, which very illy accorded with
+the eager curiosity of the son. Accordingly, he resolved that he
+would go at all hazards. He doubted much whether his father would go,
+and if he did not, he concluded he might, without much difficulty,
+conceal the matter from him. Having formed his determination and laid
+his plan, he went, before leaving home in the morning, to his
+father's desk, and took a little money to spend on the occasion; and,
+instead of going to school, went to Brighton. Contrary, however, to
+his expectations and hopes, his father, for the sake of gratifying
+him, concluded to go to the show, and, on his way, called for him.
+But no son was to be found, and no son had been there that day. The
+father, during the afternoon, saw the son, but took care that the son
+should not discover him. After the return of both at evening, the
+father inquired of the son whether he had attended school that day.
+His reply was that he had. My youthful readers will perceive how
+readily and naturally one fault leads to another. But the son was
+soon satisfied from further questions, and from the manner of his
+father, that he knew where he had been; and he confessed the whole.
+
+"The father told him that he should feel himself bound in duty to
+acquaint his teacher with the affair, and to request him to call him
+to account for absenting himself thus from the school without
+permission, and to inflict such punishment on him as might be thought
+proper.
+
+"He was, accordingly, sent to school, and, in his view, disgraced in
+the estimation of his teacher and of his school-fellows; and he
+resolved not to submit to it for any great length of time. A few days
+after this, he left home, under pretence of going to school, and ran
+away. He travelled on, until he reached the town from which his father
+had removed, and had been absent for several weeks before his parents
+ascertained what had become of him. He was, however, discovered, and
+brought back to his home.
+
+"Some time after this, he was sent to another school, in a
+neighboring town; but, not being altogether pleased, he resolved, as
+he had run away once, he would try the experiment again; and this he
+did. He had been absent six months before his parents ascertained
+what had become of him. He had changed his name; but, getting into
+some difficulty, in consequence of which he must go to jail, unless
+he could find friends, he was constrained to tell his name, and who
+were his parents; and in this way his good father, whom he had so
+much abused, learning his son's condition, stepped in to his aid, and
+saved him from confinement in a prison.
+
+"But I should make this story much too long, were I to detail all
+the particulars of his subsequent life until he became a tenant of
+the state prison. Suffice it to say, that he went on from one
+misstep to another, until he entered upon that career of crime which
+terminated as before stated.
+
+"And now, beloved reader, to what do you think this unhappy young man
+ascribes his wanderings from home, and virtue, and happiness, and the
+forlorn condition in which he now finds himself? Why, simply, to the
+trivial circumstance of his leaving school one day, without his
+father's consent, for the purpose of going to a cattle show! And what
+do you think he says of it now? 'I feel,' said he, 'that all I have
+suffered, and still suffer, is the righteous chastisement of heaven. I
+deserve it all, for my wicked disobedience both to my earthly and my
+heavenly Father; and I wish,' said he, further, 'that you would make
+such use of my case as you shall think best calculated to instruct and
+benefit the young.'
+
+"And now, beloved reader, I have drawn up this sketch--and I can
+assure you it is no fictitious one--for your perusal. You here see
+what has been the result of a single act of disobedience to a parent;
+what it has already cost this unhappy man to gratify, in an unlawful
+way, his youthful curiosity even in a single instance.
+
+
+"May He, who giveth wisdom to all who ask it, lead and guide you
+safely through the journey of life, and cause that even this humble
+sketch shall serve to strengthen you in virtue, and to deter you from
+the paths of the Destroyer."
+
+
+Can any child read this narrative without trembling at the thought
+of disobedience, even in the most trifling affair? If you once
+disobey your parents, it is impossible to tell to what it will lead.
+Crime follows in the steps of crime, till the career is closed by
+irretrievable disgrace and eternal ruin. The consequences reach far,
+far beyond the grave. They affect our interests and our happiness in
+that eternal world to which we are all rapidly going. Yes; the child
+who utters one falsehood, or is guilty of one act of disobedience,
+may, in consequence of that one yielding to temptation, be hurried on
+from crime to crime, till his soul is ruined, and he is shut up, by
+the command of God, in those awful dungeons of endless despair
+prepared for the devil and his angels.
+
+And how ungrateful is disobedience! A noble-hearted boy would deny
+himself almost any pleasure; he would meet almost any danger; he
+would endure almost any suffering, before he would, in the most
+trifling particular, disobey parents who had been so kind, and had
+endured so much to make him happy. How different is such a child from
+one who is so ungrateful that he will disobey his parents merely that
+he may play a few moments longer, or that he may avoid some trifling
+work, that he does not wish to perform! There is a magnanimity in a
+child who feels so grateful for his parents' love that he will repay
+them by all the affection and obedience in his power, which attracts
+the respect and affection of all who know him.
+
+Suppose you see a little boy walking before his mother. The boy's
+father is dead; he has been killed in battle. You see the orphan boy
+carrying upon his shoulder his father's sword and cap. You look at his
+poor mother. She is weeping, for her husband is dead. She is returning
+in sorrow to her lonely house. She has no friend but her dear boy. How
+ardently does she love him! All her hopes of earthly happiness are
+depending upon his obedience and affection. She loves her boy so well,
+that she would be willing to die, to make him happy. She will work
+night and day, while he is young, to supply him with clothes and with
+food. And all she asks and hopes is, that her boy will be
+affectionate, and obedient, and good.
+
+And, oh! how ungrateful and cruel will he be, if he neglect that
+mother, and by his unkindness cause her to weep! But you see that he
+looks like a noble-hearted boy. His countenance seems to say, "Dear
+mother, do not cry; if ever I grow up to be a man, you shall never
+want, if I can help it." Oh, who can help loving the boy who loves his
+mother!
+
+There was a little boy about thirteen years old, whose name was
+Casablanca. His father was the commander of a ship of war called the
+Orient. The little boy accompanied his father to the seas. His ship
+was once engaged in a terrible battle upon the river Nile. In the
+midst of the thunders of the battle, while the shot were flying
+thickly around, and strewing the decks with blood, this brave boy
+stood by the side of his father, faithfully discharging the duties
+which were assigned to him. At last his father placed him in a
+particular part of the ship to be performing some service, and told
+him to remain in his post till he should call him away. As the father
+went to some distant part of the ship to notice the progress of the
+battle, a ball from the enemy's vessel laid him dead upon the deck.
+But the son, unconscious of his father's death, and faithful to the
+trust he posed in him, remained in his post, waiting for his father's
+orders. The battle raged dreadfully around him. The blood of the
+slain flowed at his feet. The ship took fire, and the threatening
+flames drew nearer and nearer. Still this noble-hearted boy would not
+disobey his father. In the face of blood, and balls, and fire, he
+stood firm and obedient. The sailors began to desert the burning and
+sinking ship, and the boy cried out "Father, may I go?" But no voice
+of permission could come from the mangled body of his lifeless
+father. And the boy, not knowing that he was dead, would rather die
+than disobey. And there that boy stood, at his post, till every man
+had deserted the ship; and he stood and perished in the flames. O,
+what a boy was that! Every body who ever heard of him thinks that he
+was one of the noblest boys that ever was born. Rather than disobey
+his father, he would die in the flames. This account has been written
+in poetry, and, as the children who read this book, may like to see
+it, I will present it to them here:
+
+
+
+CASABIANCA.
+
+
+
+The boy stood on the burning deck,
+Whence all but him had fled;
+The flame that lit the battle's wreck,
+Shone round him, o'er the dead.
+
+Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
+As born to rule the storm;
+A creature of heroic blood,
+A proud, though childlike form.
+
+The flames rolled on; he would not go,
+Without his father's word;
+That father, faint in death below,
+His voice no longer heard.
+
+He called aloud--"Say, father, say
+'If yet my task is done.'"
+He knew not that the chieftain lay
+Unconscious of his son.
+
+"Speak, father," once again he cried,
+"If I may yet be gone."
+And--but the booming shots replied,
+And fast the flames rolled on.
+
+Upon his brow he felt their breach,
+And in his waving hair;
+And looked from that lone post of death,
+In still, yet brave despair;
+
+And shouted but once more aloud,
+"My father, must I stay?"
+While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
+The wreathing fires made way.
+
+They wrapped the ship in splendor wild,
+They caught the flag on high,
+And streamed above the gallant child,
+Like banners in the sky.
+
+Then came a burst of thunder sound
+The boy--oh! where was he?
+Ask of the winds that far around
+With fragments strewed the sea.
+
+With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
+That well had borne their part,
+But the noblest thing that perished there,
+Was that young, faithful heart.
+
+
+O, who would not love to have such a child as that! Is not such a boy
+more noble than one who will disobey his parents merely that he may
+have a little play, or that he may avoid some unpleasant duty? The
+brave little Casablanca would rather die than disobey. He loved his
+father. He had confidence in him. And even when death was staring him
+in the face, when
+
+
+"The flames rolled on, he would not go,
+Without his father's word."
+
+
+I have seen some bad boys who thought it looked brave to care nothing
+for the wishes of their parents. But do you think that Casabianca
+was a coward? No; the boy who is truly brave, and has a noble
+spirit, will obey his parents. If others tease him to do
+differently, he will dare to tell them, that he means to do his duty;
+and if they laugh at him, he will let them laugh, and show them, by
+his conduct, that he does not care for the sneers of bad boys. The
+fact is, that, in almost all cases, disobedient boys are mean, and
+cowardly, and contemptible. They have not one particle of the spirit
+of the noble little Casabianca. And when these disobedient boys grow
+up to be men, they do not command influence or respect.
+
+If you would be useful and happy when you arrive at mature years,
+you must be affectionate and obedient as a child. It is invariably
+true that the path of duty is the path of peace. The child who has
+established principles of firm integrity--who has that undaunted
+resolution which can face opposition and brave ridicule--bids fair to
+rise to eminence in usefulness and respect. These qualities, which
+shed so lovely a charm over childhood, will go with you into maturer
+life; they will give stability to your character, and command
+respect. And those faults of childhood which render one hesitating,
+and weak, and cowardly, will, in all probability, continue through
+your whole earthly existence. The man is but the grown-up child,
+possessing generally the same traits of character in every period of
+life. How important it is then that, in early youth, you should
+acquire the habit of triumphing over temptation, and of resolutely
+discharging all your duties!
+
+It is important for you to remember that obedience requires of you,
+not only to do as you are bidden, but to do it with cheerfulness and
+alacrity. Suppose, as you are sitting at the table in a pleasant
+evening, the customary hour for you to retire to rest arrives. You
+are, perhaps, engaged in reading some very interesting book, and do
+not feel at all sleepy. You ask permission to sit up a little longer.
+But your mother tells you that the time for you to go to bed has
+come, and she prefers that you should be regular in your habits. You
+think it is rather hard that you cannot be indulged in your wishes,
+and, with sullen looks, shut your book, and, taking a light, in ill
+humor go to your chamber. Now, this is not obedience. As you retire
+to your chamber, the displeasure of God follows you. Your sin of
+disobedience is so great, that you cannot even pray before you fall
+asleep. It is impossible for a person to pray when out of humor. You
+may repeat the words of prayer, but you cannot offer acceptable
+prayer to the Lord. And as you lie down upon your bed, and the
+darkness of night is around you, your offended Maker regards you as
+an ungrateful and disobedient child. And all the night long his eye
+is upon your heart, and the knowledge of your sin is in his mind.
+Obedience belongs to the heart, as well as to the outward conduct. It
+is necessary that you should, with affection and cheerfulness,
+fulfill the wishes of your parents. You should feel that they know
+what is best, and, instead of being sullen and displeased because
+they do not think fit to indulge you in all your wishes, you should,
+with a pleasant countenance and a willing heart, yield to their
+requirements.
+
+You do not know how much pleasure it affords your parents to see you
+happy. They are willing to make almost any sacrifice for your good.
+And they never have more heartfelt enjoyment themselves than when
+they see their children virtuous, contented, and happy. When they
+refuse to gratify any of your desires, it is not because they do not
+wish to see you happy, but because they see that your happiness will
+be best promoted by refusing your request. They have lived longer in
+the world than you, and know better than you the dangers by which you
+are surrounded. Deeply interested in your book, you desire to sit up
+later than usual, and think it would make you happy. But your mother,
+who is older and wiser, knows that the way to make children healthy
+and happy, is to have them in the regular habit of retiring early at
+night. And when you ask to sit up later than usual, she loves you too
+well to permit it. You think she is cruel, when, in fact, she is as
+kind as she can be. If she were an unkind mother, and cared nothing
+about your happiness, she would say, "O yes; you may sit up as long
+as you please. I do not care any thing about it."
+
+Now, is it obedience, when your kind mother is doing all in her power
+to make you happy, for you to look sullen and morose? Is it honoring
+your father and your mother, for you to look offended and speak
+unkindly, because they wish you to do that which they know to be for
+your welfare? The truly grateful child will endeavor, always, with a
+pleasant countenance, and a peaceful heart, to yield ready obedience
+to his parents' wishes. He will never murmur or complain. Such a child
+can retire to bed at night contented and happy. He can sincerely
+thank God for all his goodness and pray for that protection which
+God is ever ready to grant those who love him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+
+OBEDIENCE, (continued)
+
+
+
+There is hardly any subject upon which children in well-regulated
+families feel more like complaining-, than of the unwillingness of
+their parents to indulge them, in evening plays and evening visits.
+An active boy, whose heart is full of fun and frolic, is sitting
+quietly by the fireside, in a pleasant winter evening. Every now and
+then he hears the loud shouts and joyful laugh of some twenty of his
+companions, who are making the moonlight air ring with their
+merriment. Occasionally, a troop of them will go rushing by the
+windows, in the impetuosity of their sports. The ardent little fellow
+by the fireside can hardly contain himself. He longs to unite his
+voice in the shout, and try his feet in the chase. He nestles upon
+his chair, and walks across the room, and peeps through the curtains.
+As he sees the dark forms of the boys clustered together in merry
+groups, or scattered in their plays, he feels as though, he were a
+prisoner. And even though he be a good boy, and obedient to his
+parents, he can hardly understand why it is that they deprive him of
+this pleasure. I used to feel so when I was a boy, and I suppose
+other boys feel so. But now I see the reason. Those night plays led
+the boys into bad habits. All kinds of boys met together, and some
+would use indecent and profane language, which depraved the hearts
+and corrupted the morals of the rest. The boys who were thus spending
+their evenings, were misimproving their time, and acquiring a
+disrelish for the purifying and peaceful enjoyments of home. You
+sometimes see men who appear to care nothing about their families.
+They spend their evenings away from home with the idle and the
+dissolute. Such men are miserable and despised. Their families are
+forsaken and unhappy. Why do these men do so? Because, when they were
+boys, they spent their evenings away from home, playing in the
+streets. Thus home lost all its charms, virtue was banished from,
+their bosoms, and life was robbed of its joy. I wish every boy who
+reads this would think of these reasons, and see if they are not
+sufficient. Your kind parents do not allow you to go out in the
+evenings and play in the streets--
+
+
+I. Because you will acquire bad habits. You will grow rude and
+vulgar in manners, and acquire a relish for pleasures which will
+destroy your usefulness and your happiness.
+
+II. You will always find in such scenes bad boys, and must hear much
+indecent and profane language, which will corrupt your heart.
+
+III. You will lose all fondness for the enjoyment of home, and will be
+in great danger of growing up a dissipated and a worthless man.
+
+
+Now, are not these reasons sufficient to induce your parents to guard
+you against such temptations? But perhaps you say, Other parents let
+their children go out and play as much as they please every evening.
+How grateful, then, ought you to be, that you have parents who are so
+kind and faithful that they will preserve you from these occasions of
+sin and sorrow! They love you too well to be willing to see you
+preparing for an unhappy and profitless life.
+
+It not unfrequently is the case that a girl has young associates,
+who are in the habit of walking without protectors in the evening
+twilight. On the evening of some lovely summer's day, as the whole
+western sky is blazing with the golden hue of sunset, her companions
+call at her door, to invite her to accompany them upon an excursion of
+pleasure. She runs to her parents with her heart bounding with joy,
+in anticipation of the walk. They inquire into the plans of the
+party, and find that it will be impossible for them to return from
+their contemplated expedition before the darkness of the evening
+shall come. As affectionate and faithful parents, they feel that it
+is not proper or safe for them to trust their little daughter in such
+a situation. They, consequently, cannot consent that she should go.
+She is disappointed in the extreme, and as she sees her friends
+departing, social and happy, she retires to her chamber and weeps.
+The momentary disappointment to her is one of the severest she can
+experience, and she can hardly help feeling that her parents are
+cruel, to deprive her of so much anticipated pleasure. Her companions
+go away with the same feelings. They make many severe remarks, and
+really think that this little girl's parents are unkind. Perhaps they
+have a pleasant walk, and all return home in safety; and for many
+days they talk together at school of the delightful enjoyments of
+that evening. And this increases the impression on the mind of the
+little girl, that it was unkind in her parents not to let her go.
+
+But, perhaps, as they were returning, they met a drunken man, who
+staggered in amongst them. Terrified, they scatter and run. One, in
+endeavoring to jump over a fence, spoils her gown. Another, fleeing in
+the dark, falls, and sadly bruises her face. Another, with loss of
+bonnet, and with dishevelled hair, gains the door of her home. And
+thus is this party, commenced with high expectations of joy,
+terminated with fright and tears. The parents of the little girl who
+remained at home, knew that they were exposed to all this; and they
+loved their daughter too well to allow her to be placed in such a
+situation. Was it not kind in them?
+
+Perhaps, as they were returning, they met some twenty or more of the
+rudest boys of the village, in the midst of their most exciting
+sports. Here are Emma, Maria, and Susan, with their party of timid
+girls, who must force their way through this crowd of turbulent and
+noisy boys. It is already dark. Some of the most unmannerly and
+wicked boys of the village are there assembled. They are highly
+excited with their sports. And the moment they catch a view of the
+party of girls, they raise a shout, and rush in among them reckless
+and thoughtless. The parents of the little girl who staid at home,
+knew that she would be exposed to such scenes; and as they loved
+their daughter, they could not consent that she should go. Was it not
+kind?
+
+A few young girls once went on such an evening walk, intending to
+return before it was dark. But in the height of their enjoyment they
+forgot how rapidly the time was passing, and twilight leaving them.
+But, at last, when they found how far they were from home, and how
+dark it was growing, they became quite alarmed, and hastened
+homeward. They, however, got along very well while they were all
+together. But when it became necessary for them to separate, to go to
+their respective homes, and several of them had to go alone in the
+darkness, they felt quite terrified. It was necessary for one of
+these little girls, after she had left all her companions, to go
+nearly a quarter of a mile. She set out upon the run, her heart
+beating with fear. She had not proceeded far, however, before she
+heard the loud shouts of a mob of young men and boys, directly in the
+street through which she must pass. As she drew nearer, the shouts
+and laughter grew louder and more appalling. She hesitated. But what
+could she do? She must go on. Trembling, she endeavored to glide
+through the crowd, when a great brutal boy, with a horrid mask on his
+face and a "jack-o'lantern" in his hand, came up before her. He threw
+the glare of the light upon her countenance, and stared her full in
+the face. "Here is my wife," said he, and tried to draw her arm into
+his. A loud shout from the multitude of boys echoed through the
+darkened air. Hardly knowing what she did, she pressed through the
+crowd, and, breathless with fright, arrived at her home. And I will
+assure you she did not wish to take any more evening walks without a
+protector. From that time afterwards she was careful to be under her
+father's roof before it was dark.
+
+Now can you think that your father or mother are unkind, because
+they are unwilling to have you placed in such a situation? And when
+they are doing all that they can to make you happy, ought you not to
+be grateful, and by a cheerful countenance, and ready obedience, to
+try to reward them for their love?
+
+It is the duty of all children to keep in mind that their parents know
+what is best. And when they refuse to gratify your wishes, you should
+remember that their object is to do you good. That obedience which is
+prompt and cheerful, is the only obedience which is acceptable to
+them, or well-pleasing to God. A great many cases will occur in which
+you will wish to do that which your parents will not approve. If you
+do not, in such cases, pleasantly and readily yield to their wishes,
+you are ungrateful and disobedient.
+
+Neither is it enough that you should obey their expressed commands.
+You ought to try to do every thing which you think will give them
+pleasure, whether they tell you to do it or not. A good child will
+seek for opportunities to make his parents happy. A little girl, for
+instance, has some work to do. She knows that if she does it well and
+quick, it will gratify her mother. Now, if she be a good girl; she
+will not wait for her mother's orders, but will, of her own accord,
+improve her time, that she may exhibit the work to her mother sooner
+and more nicely done than she expected.
+
+Perhaps her mother is sick. Her affectionate daughter will not wait
+for her mother to express her wishes. She will try to anticipate
+them. She will walk softly around the chamber, arranging every thing
+in cheerful order. She will adjust the clothes of the bed, that her
+mother may lie as comfortably as possible. And she will watch all her
+mother's movements, that she may learn what things she needs before
+she asks for them. Such will be the conduct of an affectionate and
+obedient child. I was once called to see a poor woman who was very
+sick. She was a widow, and in poverty. Her only companion and only
+earthly reliance was her daughter. As I entered the humble dwelling
+of this poor woman, I saw her bolstered up in the bed, with her pale
+countenance emaciated with pain, and every thing about the room
+proclaiming the most abject poverty. Her daughter sat sewing at the
+head of the bed, watching every want of her mother, and active with
+her needle. The perfect neatness of the room, told how faithful was
+the daughter in the discharge of her painful and arduous duties. But
+her own slender form and consumptive countenance showed that by toil
+and watching she was almost worn out herself. This noble girl, by
+night and by day, with unwearied attention, endeavored to alleviate
+the excruciating pains of her afflicted parent. I could not look upon
+her but with admiration, in seeing the devotedness with which she
+watched every movement of her mother. How many wealthy parents would
+give all they possess, to be blessed with such a child! For months
+this devoted girl had watched around her mother by night and by day,
+with a care which seemed never to be weary. You could see by the
+movement of her eye, and by the expression of her countenance, how
+full her heart was of sympathy. She did not wait for her mother to
+tell her what to do, but was upon the watch all the time to find out
+what would be a comfort to her. This is what I call obedience. It is
+that obedience which God in heaven approves and loves.
+
+I called often upon this poor widow, and always with increasing
+admiration of this devoted child, One morning, as I entered the room,
+I saw the mother lying upon the bed on the floor, with her head in
+the lap of her daughter. She was breathing short and heavy in the
+struggles of death. The tears were rolling down the pale cheeks of
+her daughter, as she pressed her hand upon the brow of her dying
+mother. The hour of death had just arrived, and the poor mother, in
+the triumphs of Christian faith, with faint and faltering accents,
+was imploring God's blessing upon her dear daughter. It was a most
+affecting farewell. The mother, while thus expressing her gratitude
+to God for the kindness of her beloved child, breathed her last. And
+angels must have looked upon that humble abode, and upon that
+affecting scene, with emotions of pleasure, which could hardly be
+exceeded by any thing else which the world could present. O that all
+children would feel the gratitude which this girl felt for a mother's
+early love! Then would the world be divested of half its sorrows, and
+of half its sins. This is the kind of obedience which every child
+should cultivate. You should not only do whatever your parents tell
+you to do, with cheerfulness and alacrity, but you should be obedient
+to their wishes. You should be watching for opportunities to give
+them pleasure. You should, at all times, and under all circumstances,
+do every thing in your power to relieve them from anxiety and to make
+them happy. Then can you hope for the approbation of your God, and
+your heart will be filled with a joy which the ungrateful child can
+never feel. You can reflect with pleasure upon your conduct. When
+your parents are in the grave, you will feel no remorse of conscience
+harrowing your soul for your past unkindness. And when you die
+yourselves, you can anticipate a happy meeting with your parents, in
+that heavenly home, where sin and sorrow, and sickness and death, can
+never come.
+
+God has, in almost every case, connected suffering with sin. And
+there are related many cases in which he has, in this world, most
+signally punished ungrateful children. I read, a short time since, an
+account of an old man, who had a drunken and brutal son. He would
+abuse his aged father without mercy. One day, he, in a passion,
+knocked him flat upon the floor, and, seizing him by his gray hairs,
+dragged him across the room to the threshold of the door, to cast him
+out. The old man, with his tremulous voice, cried out to his
+unnatural son, "It is enough--it is enough. God is just. When I was
+young, I dragged my own father in the same way; and now God is giving
+me the punishment I deserve."
+
+Sometimes you will see a son who will not be obedient to his mother.
+He will have his own way, regardless of his mother's feelings. He has
+grown up to be a stout and stubborn boy, and now the ungrateful
+wretch will, by his misconduct, break the heart of that very mother,
+who, for months and years, watched over him with a care which knew no
+weariness. I call him a wretch, for I can hardly conceive of more
+enormous iniquity. That boy, or that young man, who does not treat
+his affectionate mother with kindness and respect, is worse than I
+can find language to describe. Perhaps you say, your mother is at
+times unreasonable. Perhaps she is. But what of that? You have been
+unreasonable ten thousand times, and she has borne with you and loved
+you. And even if your mother be at times unreasonable in her
+requirements, I want to know with what propriety you find fault with
+it. Is she to bear with all your cries in infancy, and all your
+fretfulness in childhood, and all your ingratitude and wants till you
+arrive at years of discretion, and then, because she wishes you to do
+some little thing which does not exactly meet your views, are you to
+turn upon her like a viper and sting her to the heart? The time was,
+when you was a little infant, your mother brought paleness to her own
+cheek, and weakness to her own frame, that she might give you
+support. You were sick, and in the cold winter night she would sit
+lonely by the fire, denying herself rest that she might lull her babe
+to sleep. You would cry with pain, and hour after hour she would walk
+the floor, carrying you in her arms, till her arms seemed ready to
+drop, and her limbs would hardly support her, through excess of
+weariness. The bright sun and the cloudless sky would invite her to
+go out for health and enjoyment, but she would deny herself the
+pleasure, and stay at home to take care of you, her helpless babe.
+Her friends would solicit her to indulge in the pleasures of the
+social evening party, but she would refuse for your sake, and, in the
+solitude of her chamber, she would pass weeks and months watching all
+your wants. Thus have years passed away in which you have received
+nothing but kindness from her hands; and can you be so hard-hearted,
+so ungrateful, as now to give her one moment of unnecessary pain? If
+she have faults, can you not bear with them, when she has so long
+borne with you? Oh, if you knew but the hundredth part of what she
+has suffered and endured for your sake, you could not, could not be
+such a wretch as to requite her with ingratitude. A boy who has one
+particle of generosity glowing in his bosom, will cling to his mother
+with an affection which life alone can extinguish. He will never let
+her have a single want which he can prevent. And when he grows to be
+a man, he will give her the warmest seat by his fire-side, and the
+choicest food upon his table. If necessary, he will deprive himself
+of comforts, that he may cheer her declining years. He will prove, by
+actions which cannot be misunderstood, that he feels a gratitude for
+a mother's love, which shall never, never leave him. And when she
+goes down to the grave in death, he will bedew her grave with the
+honorable tears of manly feeling. The son who does not feel thus, is
+unworthy of a mother's love; the frown of his offended Maker must be
+upon him, and he must render to Him an awful account for his
+ungrateful conduct.
+
+It is, if possible, stranger still, that any daughter can forget a
+mother's care. You are always at home. You see your mother's
+solicitude. You are familiar with her heart. If you ever treat your
+mother with unkindness, remember that the time may come when your own
+heart will be broken by the misconduct of those who will be as dear to
+you as your mother's children are to her. And you may ask yourself
+whether you would be pleased with an exhibition of ungrateful feeling
+from a child whom you had loved and cherished with the tenderest care.
+God may reward you, even in this world, according to your deeds. And
+if he does not, he certainly will in the world to come. A day of
+judgment is at hand, and the ungrateful child has as fearful an
+account to render as any one who will stand at that bar.
+
+I have just spoken to you of the grateful girl who took such good care
+of her poor sick mother. When that good girl, dies, and meets her
+mother in heaven, what a happy meeting it will be! With how much joy
+will she reflect upon her dutifulness as a child! And as they dwell
+together again in the celestial mansions, sorrow and sighing will for
+ever flee away. If you wish to be happy here or hereafter, honor your
+father and your mother. Let love's pure flame burn in your heart and
+animate your life. Be brave, and fear not to do your duty. Be
+magnanimous, and do more for your parents than they require or expect.
+Resolve that you will do every thing in your power to make them happy,
+and you will be blest as a child, and useful and respected in your
+maturer years. Oh, how lovely is that son or daughter who has a
+grateful heart, and who will rather die than give a mother sorrow!
+Such a one is not only loved by all upon earth, but by the angels
+above, and by our Father in heaven.
+
+It may assist you a little to estimate your obligations to your
+parents, to inquire what would become of you if your parents should
+refuse to take care of you any longer. You, at times, perhaps, feel
+unwilling to obey them: suppose they should say,
+
+"Very well, my child, if you are unwilling to obey us, you may go
+away from home, and take care of yourself. We cannot be at the
+trouble and expense of taking care of you unless you feel some
+gratitude."
+
+"Well," perhaps you would say, "let me have my cloak and bonnet, and
+I will go immediately."
+
+"YOUR CLOAK AND BONNET!" your mother would reply. "The cloak and
+bonnet are not yours, but your father's. He bought them and paid for
+them. Why do you call them yours?"
+
+You might possibly reply, after thinking a moment, "They are mine
+because you gave them to me."
+
+"No, my child," your mother would say, "we have only let you have
+them to wear. You never have paid a cent for them. You have not even
+paid us for the use of them. We wish to keep them for those of our
+children who are grateful for our kindness. Even the clothes you now
+have on are not yours. We will, however, give them to you; and now
+suppose you should go, and see how you can get along in taking care of
+yourself."
+
+You rise to leave the house without any bonnet or cloak. But your
+mother says, "Stop one moment. Is there not an account to be settled
+before you leave? We have now clothed and boarded you for ten years.
+The trouble and expense, at the least calculation, amount to two
+dollars a week. Indeed I do not suppose that you could have got any
+one else to have taken you so cheap. Your board, for ten years, at
+two dollars a week, amounts to one thousand and forty dollars. Are
+you under no obligation to us for all this trouble and expense?"
+
+You hang down your head and do not know what to say. What can you
+say? You have no money. You cannot pay them.
+
+Your mother, after waiting a moment for an answer, continues, "In
+many cases, when a person does not pay what is justly due, he is sent
+to jail. We, however, will be particularly kind to you, and wait
+awhile. Perhaps you can, by working for fifteen or twenty years, and
+by being very economical, earn enough to pay us. But let me see; the
+interest of the money will be over sixty dollars a year. Oh, no! it
+is out of the question. You probably could not earn enough to pay us
+in your whole life. We never shall be paid for the time, expense, and
+care, we have devoted to our ungrateful daughter. We hoped she would
+love us, and obey us, and thus repay. But it seems she prefers to be
+ungrateful and disobedient. Good by."
+
+You open the door and go out. It is cold and windy. Shivering with
+the cold, and without money, you are at once a beggar, and must
+perish in the streets, unless some one takes pity on you.
+
+You go, perhaps, to the house of a friend, and ask if they will allow
+you to live with them.
+
+They at once reply, "We have so many children of our own, that we
+cannot afford to take you, unless you will pay for your board and
+clothing."
+
+You go again out into the street, cold, hungry, and friendless. The
+darkness of the night is coming on; you have no money to purchase a
+supper, or night's lodging. Unless you can get some employment, or
+find some one who will pity you, you must lie down upon the hard
+ground, and perish with hunger and with cold.
+
+Perhaps some benevolent man sees you as he is going home in the
+evening, and takes you to the overseers of the poor, and says, "Here
+is a little vagrant girl I found in the streets. We must send the poor
+little thing to the poor house, or she will starve to death."
+
+You are carried to the poor house. There you had a very different home
+from your father's. You are dressed in the coarsest garments. You have
+the meanest food, and are compelled to be obedient, and to do the most
+servile work.
+
+Now, suppose, while you are in the poor house, some kind gentleman and
+lady should come and say, "We will take this little girl, and give
+her food and clothes for nothing. We will take her into our own
+parlor, and give her a chair by our own pleasant fireside. We will
+buy every thing for her that she needs. We will hire persons to teach
+her. We will do every thing in our power to make her happy, and will
+not ask for one cent of pay in return."
+
+What should you think of such kindness? And what should you think of
+yourself, if you could go to their parlor, and receive their bounty,
+and yet be ungrateful and disobedient? Would not a child who could
+thus requite such love, be deserving of universal detestation? But
+all this your parents are doing, and for years have been doing for
+you. They pay for the fire that warms you; for the house that shelters
+you; for the clothes that cover you; for the food that supports you!
+They watch over your bed in sickness, and provide for your
+instruction and enjoyment when in health! Your parents do all this
+without money and without price. Now, whenever you feel ill humored,
+or disposed to murmur at any of their requirements, just look a
+moment and see how the account stands. Inquire what would be the
+consequence, if they should refuse to take care of you.
+
+The child who does not feel grateful for all this kindness, must be
+more unfeeling than the brutes. How can you refrain from, doing every
+thing in your power to make those happy who have loved you so long,
+and have conferred upon you so many favors! If you have any thing
+noble or generous in your nature, it must be excited by a parent's
+love. You sometimes see a child who receives all these favors as
+though they were her due. She appears to have no consciousness of
+obligation; no heart of gratitude. Such a child is a disgrace to
+human nature. Even the very fowls of the air, and cattle of the
+fields, love their parents. They put to shame the ungrateful child.
+
+You can form no conception of that devotedness of love which your
+mother cherishes for you. She is willing to suffer almost every thing
+to save you from pain. She will, to protect you, face death in its
+most terrific form. An English gentleman tells the following affecting
+story, to show how ardently a mother loves her child.
+
+"I was once going, in my gig, up the hill in the village of Frankford,
+near Philadelphia when a little girl about two years old, who had
+toddled away from a small house, was lying basking in the sun, in the
+middle of the road. About two hundred yards before I got to the child,
+the teams of three wagons, five big horses in each, the drivers of
+which had stopped to drink at a tavern at the brow of the hill,
+started off, and came nearly abreast, galloping down the road. I got
+my gig off the road as speedily as I could, but expected to see the
+poor child crushed to pieces. A young man, a journeyman carpenter,
+who was shingling a shed by the road side, seeing the child, and
+seeing the danger, though a stranger to the parents, jumped from the
+top of the shed, ran into the road, and snatched up the child from
+scarcely an inch before the hoof of the leading horse. The horse's
+leg knocked him down; but he, catching the child by its clothes,
+flung it back out of the way of the other horses, and saved himself
+by rolling back with surprising agility. The mother of the child, who
+had apparently been washing, seeing the teams coming, and seeing the
+situation of the child, rushed out, and, catching up the child, just
+as the carpenter had flung it back, and hugging it in her arms,
+uttered a shriek, such as I never heard before, never heard since,
+and, I hope, shall never hear again; and then she dropped down as if
+perfectly dead. By the application of the usual means, she was
+restored, however, in a little while, and I, being about to depart,
+asked the carpenter if he were a married man, and whether he were a
+relation of the parents of the child. He said he was neither. 'Well,
+then,' said I, you merit the gratitude of every father and mother in
+the world, and I will show you mine by giving you what I have,--
+pulling out the nine or ten dollars which I had in my pocket. 'No, I
+thank you, sir,' said he, 'I have only done what it was my duty to
+do.'
+
+"Bravery, disinterestedness, and maternal affection surpassing these
+it is impossible to imagine. The mother was going right in amongst the
+feet of these powerful and wild horses, and amongst the wheels of
+the wagons. She had no thought for herself; no feeling of fear for
+her own life; her shriek was the sound of inexpressible joy, joy too
+great for her to support herself under."
+
+Now, can you conceive a more ungrateful wretch, than that boy would
+be, if he should grow up, not to love or obey his mother? She was
+willing to die for him. She was willing to run directly under the feet
+of those ferocious horses, that she might save his life. And if he has
+one particle of generosity in his bosom, he will do every thing in his
+power to make her happy.
+
+But your mother loves you as well as did that mother love her child.
+She is as willing to expose herself to danger and to death. And can
+you ever bear the thought of causing grief to her whose love is so
+strong; whose kindness is so great? It does appear to me that the
+generous-hearted boy, who thinks of these things, will resolve to be
+his mother's joy and blessing.
+
+A few years ago a child was lost in one of those vast plains in the
+west, called prairies. A gentleman who was engaged in the search for
+the child, thus describes the scene. It forcibly shows the strength of
+a mother's love.
+
+"In the year 1821 I was stationed on the Mad River circuit. You know
+there are extensive prairies in that part of the state. In places,
+there are no dwellings within miles of each other; and animals of
+prey are often seen there. One evening, late in autumn, a few of the
+neighbors were assembled around me, in one of those solitary
+dwellings, and we had got well engaged in the worship of God, when it
+was announced that the child of a widow was lost in the prairie. It
+was cold; the wind blew; and some rain was falling. The poor woman
+was in agony, and our meeting was broken up. All prepared to go in
+search of the lost child. The company understood the business better
+than I did, for they had been bred in those extensive barrens; and
+occurrences like the present are, probably, not unfrequent among
+them. They equipped themselves with lanterns and torches, for it was
+quite dark; and tin horns, to give signals to different parts of the
+company, when they should become widely separated. For my part, I
+thought duty required that I should take charge of the unhappy
+mother. She was nearly frantic; and as time permitted her to view her
+widowed and childless condition, and the circumstances of the
+probable death of her child, her misery seemed to double upon her.
+She took my arm; the company divided into parties; and, taking
+different directions, we commenced the search. The understanding was,
+that, when the child should be found, a certain wind of the horn
+should be made, and that all who should hear it should repeat the
+signal. In this way all the company would receive the information.
+
+"The prospect of finding a lost child in those extensive prairies,
+would, at any time, be sufficiently discouraging. The difficulty must
+be greatly increased by a dark, rainy night. We travelled many miles,
+and to a late hour. At length we became satisfied that further search
+would be unavailing; and all but the mother determined to return home.
+It was an idea she could not, for a moment, endure. She would hear of
+nothing but further search. Her strength, at last, began to fail her,
+and I prevailed on her to return to her abode. As she turned her face
+from further search, and gave up her child as lost, her misery was
+almost too great for endurance. 'My child,' said she, 'has been
+devoured by a wild beast; his little limbs have been torn asunder; and
+his blood been drunk by the hideous monster,'--and the idea was
+agony. As she clung to my arm, it seemed as if her heart-strings
+would break. At times I had almost to support her in my arms, to
+prevent her falling to the earth.
+
+"As we proceeded on our way back, I thought I heard, at a great
+distance, the sound of a horn. We stopped, and listened: it was
+repeated. It was the concerted signal. The child was found. And what
+were the feelings of the mother!" Language cannot describe them. Such
+is the strength of maternal affection. And can a child be so hard-
+hearted as not to love a mother? Is there any thing which can be more
+ungrateful than to grieve one who loves you so ardently, and who has
+done so much for you? If there be any crime which in the sight of God
+is greater than all others, it appears to me it must be the abuse of
+parents. If the spirit of a demon dwells in any human breast, it must
+be in that breast which is thankless for parental favors, and which
+can requite that love, which watched over our infancy and protected
+our helpless years, with ingratitude and disrespect.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+
+RELIGIOUS TRUTH.
+
+
+
+In this chapter I shall take up the subject of religion. That you
+may understand your duties, it is important that you should first
+understand your own character in the sight of God. I can, perhaps,
+make this plain to you by the following illustration:
+
+A few years since a ship sailed from England to explore the Northern
+Ocean. As it was a voyage of no common danger to face the storms and
+the tempests of those icy seas, a crew of experienced seamen was
+obtained, and placed under the guidance of a commander of long-tried
+skill. As the ship sailed from an English port, in pleasant weather
+and with favorable breezes, all was harmony on board, and every man
+was obedient to the lawful commander. As weeks passed away, and they
+pressed forward on the wide waste of waters, there were occasional
+acts of neglect of duty. Still the commander retained his authority.
+No one ventured to refuse to be in subjection to him, But as the ship
+advanced farther and farther into those unexplored regions, new toils
+and dangers stared them in the face. The cold blasts of those wintry
+regions chilled their limbs. Mountains of ice, dashed about by the
+tempests, threatened destruction to the ship and to the crew. As far
+as the eye could reach, a dreary view of chilling waves and of
+floating ice warned them of dangers, from which no earthly power
+could extricate them. The ship was far away from home, and in regions
+which had been seldom, if ever, seen by mortal eyes. The boldest were
+at times appalled by the dangers, both seen and unseen, which were
+clustering around them. Under these circumstances the spirit of
+revolt broke out among that ship's crew. They resolved that they
+would no longer be in subjection to their commander. They rose
+together in rebellion: deprived him of his authority, and took the
+control of the ship into their own hands. They then placed their
+captain in an open boat, and throwing in to him a few articles of
+provision, they turned him adrift upon that wide and cheerless ocean,
+and he never was heard of more. Appointing one of their number as
+commander, they turned the ship in a different direction, and
+regulated all their movements by their own pleasure. After this
+revolt, things went on pretty much as before. They had deprived their
+lawful commander of his authority and elevated another to occupy his
+place. A stranger would, perhaps, have perceived no material
+difference, after this change, in the conduct of the crew. The
+preservation of their own lives rendered it necessary that the
+established rules of naval discipline should be observed. By night
+the watches were regularly set and relieved as before. The helmsman
+performed his accustomed duty, and the sails were spread to the
+winds, or furled in the tempest, as occasion required. But still they
+were all guilty of mutiny. They had refused to submit to their lawful
+commander. Consequently, by the laws of their country, they were all
+condemned to be hung. The faithful discharge of the necessary duties
+of each day after their revolt, did not in the least free them from
+blame. The crime of which they were guilty, and for which they
+deserved the severest punishment, was the refusal to submit to
+authority.
+
+Now, our situation is very similar to that of this rebellious crew.
+The Bible tells us that we have said in our hearts that "we will not
+have God to reign over us." Instead of living in entire obedience to
+him, we have chosen to serve ourselves. The accusation which God has
+against us, is not that we occasionally transgress his laws, but that
+we refuse to regard him, at all times and under all circumstances, as
+our ruler. Sometimes children think that if they do not tell lies,
+and if they obey their parents, it is all that God requires of them.
+This, however, is by no means the case. God requires of us not only
+to do our duty to our parents, and to those around us, but also to
+love him with our most ardent affection, and to endeavor at all times
+to do that which will be pleasing to him. While the mutinous seamen
+had command of the ship, they might have been kind to one another;
+they might, with unwearied care and attention, have watched over the
+sick. They might, with the utmost fidelity, have conformed to the
+rules of naval discipline, seeing that every rope was properly
+adjusted, and that cleanliness and order should pervade every
+department. But notwithstanding all this, their guilt was
+undiminished. They had refused obedience to their commander, and for
+this they were exposed to the penalty of that law which doomed them
+to death.
+
+It is the same with us. We may be kind to one another; we may be
+free from guile; we may be faithful in the discharge of the ordinary
+duties of life; yet, if we are not in subjection to God, we are
+justly exposed to the penalty of his law. What would have been
+thought of one of those mutinous seamen, if, when brought before the
+bar of his country, he had pleaded in his defence, that, after the
+revolt, he had been faithful to his new commander? Would any person
+have regarded that as an extenuation of his sin? No! He would at once
+have been led to the scaffold. And the voice of an indignant public
+would have said that he suffered justly for his crime.
+
+Let us imagine one of the mutineers in a court of justice, and urging
+the following excuses to the judge.
+
+Judge.--You have been accused of mutiny, and are found guilty; and now
+what have you to say why sentence of death should not be pronounced
+against you?
+
+Criminal.--To be sure I did help place the captain in the boat and
+turn him adrift; but then I was no worse than the others. I did only
+as the rest did.
+
+Judge.--The fact that others were equally guilty, is no excuse for
+you. You are to be judged by your own conduct.
+
+Criminal.--Well, it is very unjust that I should be punished, for I
+was one of the hardest-working men on board the ship. No one can say
+that they ever saw me idle, or that I ever refused to perform any
+duty, however dangerous.
+
+Judge.--You are not on trial for idleness, but for refusing
+obedience to your commander.
+
+Criminal.--I was a very moral man. No one ever heard me use a profane
+word; and in my conduct and actions, I was civil to all my shipmates.
+
+Judge.--You are not accused of profanity, or of impoliteness. The
+charge for which you are arraigned, is that you have rebelled
+against lawful authority. Of this you have been proved to be guilty;
+and for this I must now proceed to pass the penalty of the law.
+
+Criminal.--But, may it please your honor, I was a very benevolent man.
+One night one of my shipmates was sick, and I watched all the night
+long at his hammock. And after we placed the captain in the boat, and
+cut him adrift, I threw in a bag of biscuit, that he might have some
+food.
+
+Judge.--If your benevolence had shown itself in defending your
+commander, and in obedience to his authority, you might now be
+rewarded; but you are guilty of mutiny, and must be hung.
+
+Criminal.--There was no man on board the ship more useful than I was.
+And after we had turned the captain adrift, we must all have perished
+if it had not been for me, for no one else understood navigation. I
+have a good education, and did everything I could to instruct my
+shipmates, and to make them skilful seamen.
+
+Judge.--You are then the most guilty of the whole rebellious crew. You
+knew your duty better than the rest, and are more inexcusable in not
+being faithful. It appears by your own confession, that your
+education was good; that your influence was extensive; and that you
+had been taught those duties which man owes his fellow man. This does
+not extenuate, but increases your guilt. Many of your shipmates were
+ignorant, and were confirmed in their rebellion by your example. They
+had never been taught those moral and social duties which had been
+impressed upon your mind. That you could have been so ungrateful, so
+treacherous, so cruel as to engage in this revolt, justly exposes you
+to the severest penalty of the law. I therefore proceed to pronounce
+upon you the sentence which your crimes deserve. You will be led from
+this place to the deepest and strongest dungeon of the prison; there
+to be confined till you are led to the gallows, and there to be hung
+by the neck till you are dead; and may God have mercy upon your soul.
+
+Now, who would not declare that this sentence is just? And who does
+not see the absurdity of the excuses which the guilty man offered?
+
+So it is with you, my young reader. It is your duty, at all times, to
+be obedient to God. The charge which God brings against us, is, that
+we have refused to obey him. For this we deserve that penalty which
+God has threatened against rebellion. If we love our parents ever so
+ardently, it will not save us, unless we also love God. If we are
+ever so kind to those around us, it will not secure God's
+approbation, unless we are also obedient to him. If our conduct is so
+correct that no one can accuse us of what is called an immoral act,
+it will be of no avail, unless we are also living with faith in the
+promises of God, and with persevering efforts to do his will. And we
+shall be as foolish as was the guilty mutineer, if we expect that any
+such excuses will save us from the penalty of his law.
+
+We cannot, by any fidelity in the discharge of the common duties of
+life, atone for the neglect to love and serve our Maker. We have
+broken away from his authority. We follow our own inclinations, and
+are obedient to the directions of others, rather than to those of
+our Maker. The fact is, that the duties we owe God and our fellow men
+are not to be separated. God expects the child in the morning to
+acknowledge his dependence upon his Maker, and to pray for assistance
+to do that which is right, during all the hours of the day. And he
+expects you, when the evening comes, to thank him for all his
+goodness, and solemnly to promise, all your days, to be obedient to
+his authority. You must not only love your parents, but you must also
+love your God. You must try to have your words and your thoughts
+pure, and all your conduct holy. Now, when you look back upon your
+past lives, and when you examine your present feelings, do you not
+see that you have not obeyed God in all your ways? Not only have you
+had wicked thoughts, and at times been disobedient to your parents,
+but you have not made it the great object of your life to serve your
+Maker.
+
+God now desires to have you obedient to him. He loves you, and wishes
+to see you happy. He has for this purpose sent his Son into the world
+to die for your sins, and to lead you to piety and peace. The Savior
+now asks you to repent of sin and love him, that, when you die, you
+may be received to heaven, and be happy for ever. You perhaps
+remember the passage of Scripture found in Rev. 3:2, "Behold, I
+stand at the door, and knock; if any man hear my voice, and open the
+door, I will come in to him, and sup with him, and he with me." By
+this he expresses his desire that we should receive him to our
+hearts.
+
+One of the most affecting scenes described by the pen of the most
+eloquent of writers, is, that of an aged father driven from his home
+by ungrateful and hard-hearted children. The broken-hearted man is
+represented as standing by the door of his own house, in a dark and
+tempestuous night, with his gray locks streaming in the wind, and his
+head unprotected to the fury of the storm. There he stands, drenched
+with the rain, and shivering with the cold. But the door is barred,
+and the shutters are closed. His daughters hear the trembling voice of
+their aged parent, but refuse him admission. Their flinty hearts
+remain unmoved. The darkness increases; the tempest rages; the rain
+falls in torrents, and the wind howls most fearfully. The voice of
+their father grows feebler and feebler, as the storm spends its fury
+upon him. But nothing can touch the sympathies of his unnatural
+children. They will not open the door to him. At last, grief, and the
+pangs of disappointed hope, break the father's heart. He looks at the
+black and lowering clouds above him, and, in the phrensy of his
+distracted mind, invites the increasing fury of the storm. And still
+those wretched children refuse to receive him to their fireside, but
+leave him to wander in the darkness and the cold.
+
+The representation of this scene, as described by the pen of
+Shakspeare, has brought tears into millions of eyes. The tragedy of
+King Lear and his wretched daughters is known throughout the civilized
+world. What heart is not indignant at such treatment? Who does not
+abhor the conduct of these unnatural children?
+
+Our blessed Savior represents himself as taking a similar attitude
+before the hearts of his children. He has presented himself at the
+door of your heart, and can you refuse him admission? "Behold," says
+he, "I stand at the door and knock." But we, with a hardness of heart
+which has triumphed over greater blessings, and is consequently more
+inexcusable than that of the daughters of King Lear, refuse to love
+him, and to receive him as our friend. He entreats admission. He asks
+to enter and be with you and you with him, that you may be happy. And
+there he has stood for days, and months, and years, and you receive
+him not. Could we see our own conduct in the light in which we behold
+the conduct of others, we should be confounded with the sense of our
+guilt.
+
+Is there a child who reads this book, who has not at times felt the
+importance of loving the Savior? When you felt these serious
+impressions, Christ was pleading for admission to your heart. You
+have, perhaps, been sick, and feared that you were about to die.
+And, oh, how ardently did you then wish that the Savior were your
+friend! Perhaps you have seen a brother or a sister die: you wept
+over your companion, as her cheek daily grew more pale, and she drew
+nearer and nearer to death. And when she ceased to breathe, and her
+limbs were cold and lifeless, you wept as though your heart would
+break. And when you saw her placed in the coffin and carried to the
+grave, how earnestly did you desire to be prepared to die yourself!
+Oh, how did the world seem then to you! This was the way the Savior
+took to reach your heart. When on earth, he said, "Suffer little
+children to come unto me, and forbid them not." And now he endeavors,
+in many ways, to induce you to turn to him. Sometimes he makes you
+happy, that his goodness may excite your love. When he sees that in
+happiness you are most prone to forget him, he sends sorrow and
+trouble, under which your spirits sink, and this world appears
+gloomy, and you are led to look forward to a happier one to come. And
+does it not seem very ungrateful that you should resist all this
+kindness and care, and continue to refuse to submit yourself to him?
+You think the daughters of King Lear were very cruel. Indeed they
+were; but not so cruel as you. Their father had been kind to them,
+but not so kind as your Savior has been to you. He stood long at the
+door and knocked, but not so long as the Savior has stood at the door
+of your heart. It is in vain that we look to find an instance of
+ingratitude equal to that manifested by the sinner who rejects the
+Savior. And it is, indeed, melancholy to think, that any child could
+be so hard-hearted.
+
+It is strange that any person can resist the love which God has
+manifested for us. He has sent angels with messages of mercy, and
+invitations to his home in heaven. He sent his Son to die that we
+might be saved from everlasting sorrow. He has provided a world of
+beauty and of glory, far surpassing any thing we can conceive, to
+which he invites us, and where he will make us happy for ever. And we
+are informed that all the angels in heaven are so much interested in
+our welfare, that "there is joy in the presence of the angels of God
+over one sinner that repenteth." It is indeed wonderful that the holy
+and happy angels above should feel so deep an interest in our
+concerns. But, oh, how surpassingly strange it is, that we feel so
+little for ourselves!
+
+It is kind in God that he will not let the wicked enter heaven. He
+loves his holy children there too well, to allow the wicked to enter
+and trouble them, and destroy their peace. There was a little girl
+once, who had a party of her companions to spend the evening with
+her. They were all playing very happily in the parlor, when a drunken
+man happened to go by. As he heard their voices, he came staggering
+up to the door, and tried to get in. All the girls were very much
+frightened, for fear the degraded wretch would get into the parlor.
+But the gentleman of the house told them not to be frightened. He
+assured them that the man should not come in, and though it was a
+cold winter's night, he went out and drove him away. Now, was not
+this gentleman kind thus to protect these children?
+
+Suppose a wicked man, or a lost spirit, should go to the gates of
+heaven and try to enter there. Do you suppose that God would let him
+in? Would not God be as kind to the angels as an earthly father to
+his earthly children? Every angel in heaven would cry to God for
+protection, if they should see the wicked approaching that happy
+world. And God shows his love, by declaring that the wicked shall
+never enter there.
+
+
+"Those holy gates for ever bar
+Pollution, sin and shame;
+None shall obtain admittance there,
+But followers of the Lamb."
+
+
+It is not because God is unkind and cruel that he shuts up the wicked
+in the world of wo. He does this because he loves his children, and,
+like a kind father, determines to protect them from oppression and
+sorrow. The bright wings of the angel glitter in the heavenly world.
+Pure joy glows in the bosoms of the blest. Love unites them all, as
+they swell their songs, and take their flight. In their home, the
+wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are for ever at rest.
+
+A few years since, there was a certain family which was united and
+happy. The father and mother looked upon the children who surrounded
+their fireside, and beheld them all virtuous in their conduct, and
+affectionate towards one another. Their evening sports went on
+harmoniously, and those children were preparing, in their beloved
+home, for future virtues and usefulness. But, at last, one of the
+sons became dissipated. He went on from step to step in vice, till he
+became a degraded wretch. His father and mother wept over his sins,
+and did everything in their power to reclaim him. All was in vain.
+Every day he grew worse. His brothers and sisters found all the
+happiness-of their home destroyed by his wickedness. The family was
+disgraced by him, and they were all in sorrow and tears. One evening
+he was brought home so intoxicated that he was apparently lifeless.
+His poor broken-hearted mother saw him conveyed in this disgraceful
+condition to his bed. At another time, when his parents were absent,
+he came home, in the evening, in a state of intoxication bordering on
+phrensy. He raved about the house like a madman. He swore the most
+shocking oaths. Enraged with one of his sisters, he seized a chair,
+and would have struck her, perhaps, a fatal blow, if she had not
+escaped by flight. The parents of this child felt that such things
+could no longer be permitted, and told him that, if there was not an
+immediate reformation in his conduct, they should forbid him to enter
+their house. But entreaties and warnings were alike in vain. He
+continued his disgraceful career. His father, perceiving that
+amendment was hopeless, and that he was, by remaining at home,
+imbittering every moment of the family, and loading them with
+disgrace, sent his son to sea, and told him never to return till he
+could come back improved in character. To protect his remaining
+children, it was necessary for him to send the dissolute one away.
+
+Now, was this father cruel, in thus endeavoring to promote the peace
+and the happiness of his family? Was it unkind in him to resolve to
+make his virtuous children happy, by excluding the vicious and the
+degraded? No! Every one sees that this is the dictate of paternal
+love. If he had been a cruel father--if he had had no regard for his
+children, he would have allowed this abandoned son to have remained,
+and conducted as he pleased. He would have made no effort to protect
+his children, and to promote their joy.
+
+And is it not kind in our heavenly Father to resolve that those who
+will not obey his laws shall be for ever excluded from heaven? He
+loves his virtuous and obedient children, and will make them perfectly
+happy. He never will permit the wicked to mar their joys and degrade
+their home. If God were an unkind being, he would let the wicked go
+to heaven. He would have no prison to detain them. He would leave the
+good unprotected and exposed to abase from the bad. But God is love.
+He never thus will abandon his children. He has provided a strong
+prison, with dungeons deep and dark, where he will hold the wicked,
+so that they cannot escape. The angels in heaven have nothing to fear
+from wicked men, or wicked angels. God will protect his children from
+all harm.
+
+Our Father in heaven is now inviting all of us to repent of our sins,
+and to cultivate a taste for the joys of heaven. He wishes to take us
+to his own happy home, and make us loved members of his own
+affectionate family. And every angel in heaven rejoices, when he sees
+the humblest child repent of sin and turn to God. But if we will not
+be obedient to his laws; if we will not cultivate in our hearts those
+feelings of fervent love which glow and burn in the angel's bosom; if
+we will not here on earth learn the language of prayer and praise, God
+assures us that we never can be admitted to mingle with his happy
+family above. Would not God be very unkind to allow the wicked and
+impenitent to enter in and mar their joys? The angels are happy to
+welcome a returning wanderer. But if they should see an unsubdued
+spirit directing his flight towards heaven, they all would pray to
+God that he might not be permitted to enter, to throw discord into
+their songs, and sorrow into their hearts. God is love. He will keep
+heaven pure and happy. All who will be obedient to him, he will
+gladly elevate to walk the streets of the New Jerusalem, and to
+inhabit the mansions which he has built.
+
+But those who will not submit to his authority must be shut out for
+ever. If we do not yield to the warnings and entreaties which now come
+to us from God, we must hear the sentence, "Depart from me,"--"I know
+you not." God uses all the means which he deems proper to reclaim us;
+and when he finds that we are incorrigible, then does he close upon us
+the doors of our prison, that we never may escape.
+
+If God cared not for the happiness of his children, he would break
+these laws; he would tear down this prison; he would turn all its
+guilty inmates loose upon the universe, to rove and to desolate at
+their pleasure. But, blessed be God, he is love; and the brightness
+and glory of heaven never can be marred by the entrance of sin. In
+hell's dreary abyss, the wretched outcasts from heaven will find
+their secure and eternal abiding place. Where do you wish to have
+your home? with the virtuous and happy in heaven, or with the vicious
+and miserable in the world of wo? Now is the time to decide. But life
+will soon be gone. As we die, we shall continue for ever.
+
+
+"There are no acts of pardon passed
+In the cold grave to which we haste."
+
+
+God, in this world, makes use of all those means which he thinks
+calculated to affect your feelings and to incline you to his service.
+You now hear of the love of Jesus, and feel the strivings of the Holy
+Spirit. You are surrounded by many who love the Savior, and enjoy all
+the precious privileges of the Bible and the Sabbath. God speaks to
+you in afflictions and enjoyments, and tries ways without number to
+reclaim you to himself. If you can resist all this, your case is
+hopeless. In the world of wo there will be no one to plead with you
+the wonders of a Savior's love. You will feel no strivings of the
+Spirit. No Christian friends will surround you with their sympathies
+and their prayers. The Sabbath will no longer dawn upon you, and the
+Bible will no longer entreat you to turn to the Lord. If you can
+resist all the motives to repentance which this life affords, you are
+proof against all the means which God sees fit to adopt. If you die
+impenitent, you will for ever remain impenitent, and go on
+unrestrained in passion and wo. The word of God has declared that, at
+the day of judgment our doom will be fixed for ever. The wicked shall
+then go into everlasting punishment, and the righteous to life
+eternal. The bars of the sinner's prison will never be broken. The
+glories of the saint's abode will never be sullied.
+
+A few years since, a child was lost in the woods. He was out, with his
+brothers and sisters, gathering berries, and accidentally was
+separated from them and lost. The children, after looking in vain
+for some time in search of the little wanderer, returned just in the
+dusk of the evening, to inform their parents that their brother was
+lost, and could not be found. The woods at that time were infested
+with bears. The darkness of a cloudy night was rapidly coming on, and
+the alarmed father, gathering a few of his neighbors, hastened in
+search of the lost child. The mother remained at home, almost
+distracted with suspense. As the clouds gathered and the darkness
+increased, the father and the neighbors, with highly-excited fears,
+traversed the woods in all directions, and raised loud shouts to
+attract the attention of the child. But their search was in vain.
+They could find no traces of the wanderer; and as they stood under
+the boughs of the lofty trees, and listened, that if possible they
+might hear his feeble voice, no sound was borne to their ears but the
+melancholy moaning of the wind as it swept through the thick branches
+of the forest. The gathering clouds threatened an approaching storm,
+and the deep darkness of the night had already enveloped them. It is
+difficult to conceive what were the feelings of that father. And who
+could imagine how deep the agony which filled the bosom of that
+mother as she heard the wind, and beheld the darkness in which her
+child was wandering! The search continued in vain till nine o'clock
+in the evening. Then one of the party was sent back to the village to
+collect the inhabitants for a more extensive search. The bell rung
+the alarm, and the cry of fire resounded through the streets. It was,
+however, ascertained that it was not fire which caused the alarm, but
+that the bell tolled the more solemn tidings of a lost child. Every
+heart sympathized in the sorrows of the distracted parents. Soon the
+multitudes of the people were seen ascending the hill upon the
+declivity of which the village was situated, to aid in the search.
+Ere long the rain began to fall, but no tidings came back to the
+village of the lost child. Hardly an eye was that night closed in
+sleep, and there was not a mother who did not feel for the agonized
+parents. The night passed away, and the morning dawned, and yet no
+tidings came. At last those engaged in the search met together and
+held a cousultation. They made arrangements for a more minute and
+extended search, and agreed that in case the child was found, a gun
+should be fired to give a signal to the rest of the party. As the sun
+arose, the clouds were dispelled, and the whole landscape glittered
+in the rays of the bright morning. But that village was deserted and
+still. The stores were closed, and business was hushed. Mothers were
+walking the streets with sympathising countenances and anxious
+hearts. There was but one thought there--What has become of the lost
+child? All the affections and interest of the community were flowing
+in one deep and broad channel towards the little wanderer. About nine
+in the morning the signal gun was fired, which announced that the
+child was found; and for a moment how dreadful was the suspense! Was
+it found a mangled corpse, or was it alive and well? Soon a joyful
+shout proclaimed the safety of the child. The  shout was borne from
+tongue to tongue, till the whole forest rung again with the joyful
+acclamations of the multitude. A commissioned messenger rapidly bore
+the tidings to the distracted mother. A procession was immediately
+formed by those engaged in the search. The child was placed upon a
+platform, hastily constructed from the boughs of trees, and borne in
+triumph at the head of the procession. When they arrived at the brow
+of the hill, they rested for a moment, and proclaimed their success
+with three loud and animated cheers. The procession then moved on,
+till they arrived in front of the dwelling where the parents of the
+child resided. The mother, who stood at the door, with streaming eyes
+and throbbing heart, could no longer restrain herself or her
+feelings. She rushed into the street, clasped her child to her bosom,
+and wept aloud. Every eye was suffused with tears, and for a moment
+all were silent. But suddenly some one gave a signal for a shout. One
+loud, and long, and happy note of joy rose from the assembled
+multitude, and they then dispersed to their business and their homes.
+
+There was more joy over the one child that was found than over the
+ninety and nine that went not astray. Likewise there is joy in the
+presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth. But
+still this is a feeble representation of the love of our Father in
+heaven for us, and of the joy with which the angels welcome the
+returning wanderer. The mother cannot feel for her child that is lost
+as God feels for the unhappy wanderers in the paths of sin. The child
+was exposed to a few hours of suffering; the sinner to eternal
+despair. The child was in danger of being torn by the claws and the
+teeth of the bear--a pang which would be but for a moment; but the
+sinner must feel the ravages of the never-dying worm, must be exposed
+to the fury of the inextinguishable flame. Oh, if a mother can feel
+so much, what must be the feelings of our Father in heaven! If man
+can feel so deep a sympathy, what must be the emotions which glow in
+the bosoms of angels! Such is the nature of the feelings with which
+we are regarded by our heavenly Father and the holy angels.
+
+Many parables are introduced in the Bible to illustrate this feeling
+on the part of God. He compares himself with the kind shepherd, who,
+finding that one little lamb had strayed from the flock, left the
+ninety and nine and went in search of the lost one. He illustrates
+this feeling by that of the woman who had lost a piece of silver, and
+immediately lit a candle and swept the house diligently, till she
+found it. In like manner, we are informed, that it is not the will of
+our Father who is in heaven, that one of his little ones should
+perish. He has manifested the most astonishing love and kindness that
+he might make us happy.
+
+But what greater proof of love can we have than that which God has
+given in the gift of his Son! That you might be saved from sin and
+ceaseless wo, Jesus came and died. He came to the world, and placed
+himself in poverty, and was overwhelmed with sorrow, that he might
+induce you to accept salvation, and to be happy for ever in heaven.
+The Savior was born in a stable. When an infant, his life was
+sought. His parents were compelled to flee out of the country, that
+they might save him from a violent death. As he grew up, he was
+friendless and forsaken. He went about from town to town, and from
+village to village, doing good to all. He visited the sick, and
+healed them. He went to the poor and the afflicted, and comforted
+them. He took little children in his arms, and blessed them. He
+injured no one, and endeavored to do good to all. And yet he was
+persecuted, and insulted, and abused. Again and again he was
+compelled to flee for his life. They took up stones to stone him.
+They hired false witnesses to accuse him. At last they took him by
+night, as he was in a garden praying. A cruel multitude came and took
+him by force, and carried him into a large hall. They then surrounded
+our blessed Savior, and heaped upon him all manner of insult and
+abuse. They mocked him. They collected some thorns, and made a crown,
+which they forced upon his head, pressing the sharp thorns into his
+flesh, till the blood flowed down upon his hair and his cheeks. And
+after thus passing the whole night, he was led out to the hill of
+Calvary, tottering beneath the heavy burden of the cross, which he
+was compelled to bear upon his own shoulders, and to which he was to
+be nailed. When they arrived at the place of crucifixion, they drove
+the nails through his hands and his feet. The cross was then fixed in
+the ground, and the Savior, thus cruelly suspended, was exposed to
+the loud and contemptuous shouts of an insulting mob. The morning air
+was filled with their loud execrations. A soldier came and thrust a
+spear deep into his side. To quench his burning thirst, they gave him
+vinegar, mixed with gall. Thus did our Savior die. He endured all
+this, from the cradle to the grave, that he might save sinners. And
+when he, while enduring the agony of the cross, cried out, "My God,
+my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" he was then suffering those
+sorrows which you must otherwise have suffered. If it had not been
+for our Savior's sorrows and death, there would have been no help for
+any sinner. You never could have entered heaven. You must for ever
+have endured the penalty of that law which saith, "The soul that
+sinneth, it shall die." Was there ever such love as this? And, oh,
+must not that child's heart be hard, who will not love such a Savior,
+and who will not do all in his power to prove his gratitude by a holy
+and an obedient life? Christ so loves you, that he was willing to die
+the most cruel of deaths, that he might make you happy. He is now in
+heaven, preparing mansions of glory for all those who will accept him
+as their Savior, and obey his law. And where is the child who does
+not wish to have this Savior for his friend, and to have a home in
+heaven?
+
+The Holy Spirit is promised to aid you in all your efforts to resist
+sin. If, when the power of temptation is strong, you will look to him
+for aid, he will give you strength to resist. Thus is duty made easy,
+God loves you. Angels desire that you should come to heaven. Jesus has
+died to save you. The Holy Spirit is ready to aid you in every
+Christian effort, and to lead you on, victorious over sin. How
+unreasonable, then, and how ungrateful it is, for any child to refuse
+to love God, and to prepare to enter the angels' home! There you can
+be happy. No night is there. No sickness or sorrow can ever reach you
+there. Glory will fill your eye. Joy will fill your heart. You will
+be an angel yourself, and shine in all the purity and in all the
+bliss of the angels' happy home.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+
+PIETY.
+
+
+
+In the last chapter I have endeavored to show you in what your sin
+principally consists; and also the interest which God feels in your
+happiness, and the sacrifice he has made to lead you to penitence and
+to heaven. But you desire more particular information respecting the
+duties which God requires of you. I shall in this chapter explain the
+requirements of God; and show you why you should immediately
+commence a life of piety.
+
+Probably no child reads this book who is not conscious of sin. You
+feel not only that you do not love God as you ought, but that
+sometimes you are ungrateful or disobedient to your parents; you are
+irritated with your brother or your sister, or you indulge in other
+feelings, which you know to be wrong. New, the first thing which God
+requires of you is, that you should be penitent for all your sins. At
+the close of the day, you go to your chamber for sleep. Perhaps your
+mother goes with you, and hears you repeat a prayer of gratitude to
+God for his kindness. But after she has left the chamber, and you are
+alone in the darkness, you recall to mind the events of the day,
+asking yourself what you have done that is wrong. Perhaps you were
+idle at school, or unkind to a playmate, or disobedient to your
+parents. Now, if you go to sleep without sincere repentance, and a
+firm resolution to try for the future to avoid such sin, the frown of
+your Maker will be upon you during all the hours of the night. You
+ought, every evening, before you go to sleep, to think of your
+conduct during the day, and to express to God your sincere sorrow for
+every thing you have done which is displeasing to him, and humbly
+implore the pardon of your sins through Jesus Christ. Such a child
+God loves. Such a one he will readily forgive. And if it is his will
+that you should die before the morning, he will take you to heaven,
+to be happy there. But remember that it is not enough simply to say
+that you are penitent. You must really feel penitent. And you must
+resolve to be more watchful in future, and to guard against the sin
+over which you mourn. You have, for instance, spoken unkindly, during
+the day, to your brother. At night, you feel that you have done
+wrong, and that God is displeased. Now, if you are sincerely
+penitent, and ask God's forgiveness, you will pray that you may not
+again be guilty of the same fault. And when you awake in the morning,
+you will be watchful over yourself, that you may be pleasant and
+obliging. You will perhaps go to your brother, and say, "I did wrong
+in speaking unkindly to you yesterday, and I am sorry for it. I will
+endeavor never again to do so." At any rate, if you are really
+penitent, you will pray to God for forgiveness, and most sincerely
+resolve never willingly to be guilty of the same sin again.
+
+But you must also remember that, by the law of God, sin can never pass
+unpunished. God has said, "The soul that sinneth, it shall die." And
+when you do any thing that is wrong, and afterwards repent of it, God
+forgives you, because the Savior has borne the punishment which you
+deserve. This is what is meant by that passage of Scripture, "he was
+wounded for our transgressions, and bruised for our iniquities." Our
+Father in heaven loved us so much that he gave his own Son to die in
+our stead. And now he says that he is ready to forgive, if we will
+repent, and believe in his Son who has suffered and died to save us.
+And ought we not to love so kind a Savior?
+
+You cannot expect at present precisely and fully to understand every
+thing connected with the sufferings and death of Christ, and the moral
+effect they produce. In fact, it is intimated in the Bible, that even
+the angels in heaven find this subject one capable of tasking all
+their powers. You can understand, however, that he suffered and
+died, that you might be forgiven. It would not be safe in any
+government to forgive sin merely on the penitence of the sinner.
+Civil government cannot do this safely; a family government cannot do
+it safely. It is often the case, when a man is condemned to death for
+a crime he has committed, that his dearest friends, sometimes his
+wife and children, make the most affecting appeals to the chief
+magistrate of the state, to grant him pardon. But it will not do. The
+governor, if he knows his duty, will be firm, however painful it may
+be, in allowing the law to take its course; for he has to consider
+not merely the wishes of the unhappy criminal and his friends, but
+the safety and happiness of the whole community.
+
+And so the governor of the universe must consider, not merely his own
+benevolent feelings towards the sinner, but the safety and the
+holiness of all his creatures; and he could not have forgiven our
+sins, unless he had planned a way by which we might safely be
+forgiven. This way he did devise, to sustain law and protect
+holiness, and yet to let us go free from the punishment due to our
+sins. Jesus died for us. He bore our sins. By his stripes we are
+healed. And shall we not be grateful?
+
+It is thus that God has provided a way for our escape from the penalty
+of his law. You have read, "God so loved the world, that he gave his
+only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish,
+but have everlasting life." Was it not kind in God to give his Son to
+suffer, that we might be saved from punishment? God has plainly given
+his law. And he has said, the soul that sinneth, it shall die. And he
+has said, that his word is so sacred, that, though heaven and earth
+should pass away, his word shall not pass away. We have all broken
+God's law, and deserve the punishment it threatens. But our indulgent
+Father in heaven is looking upon us in loving kindness and in tender
+mercy. He pities us, and he has given his own Son to bear the
+punishment which we deserve. Oh, was there ever proof of greater love?
+
+And how ardently should we love that Savior, who is nearer and dearer
+than a brother, who has left heaven and all its joys, and come to the
+world, and suffered and died, that we might be happy! God expects that
+we shall love him; that we shall receive him as our Savior, and
+whenever we do wrong, that we shall ask forgiveness for his sake. And
+when a child thinks of the sorrows which his sins have caused the
+Savior, it does appear to me that he must love that Savior with the
+most ardent affection.
+
+It was the law of a certain town that the boys should not slide down
+hill in the streets.  [FOOTNOTE: To those children who live where it
+seldom or never snows, I ought to say in this note, that, in New
+England, it is a very common amusement to slide down the hills on
+sleds or boards, in the winter evenings, when the roads are icy and
+smooth. In some places this is dangerous to passengers, and then it
+is forbidden by law.]   If any were found doing so, they were to be
+fined, and it the money was not paid, they were to be sent to jail.
+Now, a certain boy, the son of a poor man, broke the law, and was
+taken up by an officer. They carried him into court, the fact was
+fully proved against him, and he was sentenced to pay the fine. He
+had no money, and his father, who stood by, was poor, and found it
+hard work to supply the wants of the family. The money must be paid,
+however, or the poor boy must go to jail. The father thought that he
+could earn it in the evenings, and he promised, accordingly, to pay
+the money if they would let his son go.
+
+Evening after evening, then, he went out to his work, while the boy
+was allowed to remain by the comfortable fire, at home. After a while
+the money was earned and paid, and then the boy felt relieved and
+free.
+
+Now, suppose this boy, instead of being grateful to the father, who
+had suffered for him, should treat him with coldness and unkindness.
+Suppose he should continually do things to give him pain, and always
+be reluctant to do the slightest thing to oblige him. Who would not
+despise so ungrateful a boy?
+
+And do you think that that child who will grieve the Savior with
+continued sin, who will not love him, who will not try to obey him,
+can have one spark of noble, of generous feeling in his bosom? Would
+any person, of real magnanimity, disregard a friend who had done so
+much as the Savior has done for us? God requires of us, that while we
+feel penitent for our sins, we should feel grateful to that Savior
+who has redeemed us by his blood. And when Jesus Christ says, "Come
+unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you
+rest," this is what he means. We must love Christ, We must regard him
+as the friend who has, by his own sufferings, saved us from the
+penalty of God's law. And it is dishonorable and base to refuse to
+love him, and to do every thing in your power to please him.
+
+This kind Savior is now looking upon you with affection. He has gone
+to heaven to prepare a place for you, and there he wishes to receive
+you, and to make you happy for ever. His eye is upon your heart every
+day, and every hour. He never forgets you. Wherever you go, he follows
+you. He shields you from harm. He supplies all your wants. He
+surrounds you with blessings. And now, all that he asks for all these
+favors is your love; not that you may do good to him, but that he may
+do still more good to you. He wishes to take you, holy and happy, to
+the green pastures and the still waters of heaven. Can any child
+refuse to love this Savior? Oh, go to him at once, and pray that he
+will receive you, and write your name among the number of his
+friends. Then will he soon receive you to his own blissful abode.
+
+
+"Fair distant land; could mortal eyes
+But half its charms explore,
+How would our spirits long to rise,
+And dwell on earth no more!
+
+No cloud those distant regions know,
+Realms ever bright and fair!
+For sin, the source of mortal wo,
+Can never enter there."
+
+
+Every child who reads this book probably knows, that, unless he is
+penitent for sin, and trusts in the Savior, he must for ever be
+banished from the presence of God. But a person cannot be penitent and
+grateful who does not endeavor in all things to be obedient. You must
+try at all times of the day, and in all the duties of the day, to be
+faithful, that you may please God. It is not a little thing to be a
+Christian. It is not enough that you at times pray earnestly and feel
+deeply. You must be mild, and forbearing, and affectionate, and
+obedient. Do you think that child can be a Christian, who will, by
+ingratitude, make his parents unhappy? There is, perhaps, nothing
+which is more pleasing to God than to see a child who is affectionate
+and obedient to his parents. This is one of the most important
+Christian duties. And if ever you see a child who professes to be a
+Christian child, and who yet is guilty of ingratitude and of
+disobedience, you may be assured that those professions are insincere.
+If you would have a home in heaven, you must be obedient while in your
+home on earth. If you would have the favor and the affection of your
+heavenly Father, you must merit the affection and the gratitude of
+your earthly parents. God has most explicitly commanded that you
+should honor your father and your mother. If you sin in this respect,
+it is positive proof that the displeasure of God rests upon you.
+
+Sincere love to God will make a child not only more amiable in general
+character, but also more industrious. You are, perhaps, at school,
+and, not feeling very much like study, idle away the afternoon. Now,
+God's eye is upon you all the time. He sees every moment which is
+wasted. And the sin of that idle afternoon you must render an account
+for, at his bar. Do you suppose that a person can be a Christian, and
+yet be neglecting time, and living in idleness? Even for every idle
+word that men shall speak they must give an account in the day of
+judgment. If you do not improve your time when young, you can neither
+be useful, nor respected, nor happy. The consequences of this
+idleness will follow you through life. With all sin God has connected
+sorrow. The following account of George Jones will show how
+intimately God has connected with indolence sorrow and disgrace.
+
+
+THE CONSEQUENCES OF IDLENESS.
+
+
+Many young persons seem to think it is not of much consequence if they
+do not improve their time well when in youth, for they can make it up
+by diligence when they are older. They think it is disgraceful for men
+and women to be idle, but that there can be no harm for persons who
+are young to spend their time in any manner they please.
+
+George Jones thought so. He was twelve years old. He went to an
+academy to prepare to enter college. His father was at great expense
+in obtaining books for him, clothing him, and paying his tuition.
+But George was idle. The preceptor of the academy would often tell
+him that if he did not study diligently when young, he would never
+succeed well. But George thought of nothing but present pleasure.
+Often would he go to school without having made any preparation for
+his morning lesson; and, when called to recite with his class, he
+would stammer and make such blunders, that the rest of his class
+could not help laughing at him. He was one of the poorest scholars in
+school, because he was one of the most idle.
+
+When recess came, and all the boys ran out of the academy, upon the
+play-ground, idle George would come moping along. Instead of studying
+diligently while in school, he was indolent and half asleep. When the
+proper time for play came, he had no relish for it. I recollect very
+well that, when tossing up for a game of ball, we used to choose every
+body on the play-ground before we chose George. And if there were
+enough to play without him, we used to leave him out. Thus was he
+unhappy in school and out of school. There is nothing which makes a
+person enjoy play so well as to study hard. When recess was over, and
+the rest of the boys returned fresh and vigorous to their studies,
+George might be seen lagging and moping along to his seat. Sometimes
+he would be asleep in school, sometimes he would pass his time in
+catching flies and penning them up in little holes, which he cut in
+his seat. And sometimes, when the preceptor's back was turned, he
+would throw a paper ball across the room. When the class was called
+up to recite, George would come drowsily along, looking as mean and
+ashamed as though he were going to be whipped. The rest of the class
+stepped up to the recitation with alacrity, and appeared happy and
+contented. When it came George's turn to recite, he would be so long,
+and make such blunders, that all most heartily wished him out of the
+class.
+
+At last George went with his class to enter college. Though he passed
+a very poor examination, he was admitted with the rest, for those who
+examined him thought it was possible, that the reason why he did not
+answer the questions better was that he was frightened. Now came hard
+times for poor George. In college there is not much mercy shown to bad
+scholars; and George had neglected his studies so long that he could
+not now keep up with his class, let him try ever so hard.
+
+He could without much difficulty get along in the academy, where there
+were only two or three boys of his own class to laugh at him. But now
+he had to go into a large recitation room, filled with students from
+all parts of the country. In the presence of all these he must rise
+and recite to the professor. Poor fellow! He paid dear for his
+idleness. You would have pitied him, if you could have seen him
+trembling in his seat, every moment expecting to be called upon to
+recite. And when he was called upon, he would stand up and take what
+the class called a dead set; that is, he could not recite at all.
+Sometimes he would make such ludicrous blunders that the whole class
+would burst into a laugh. Such are the applauses idleness gets. He
+was wretched, of course. He had been idle so long, that he hardly
+knew how to apply his mind to study. All the good scholars avoided
+him; they were ashamed to be seen in his company. He became
+discouraged, and gradually grew dissipated.
+
+The government of the college soon were compelled to suspend him. He
+returned in a few months, but did no better; and his father was then
+advised to take him from college. He left college, despised by every
+one. A few months ago I met him in New-York, a poor wanderer, without
+money or friends. Such are the wages of idleness. I hope every reader
+will from this history take warning, and "stamp improvement on the
+wings of time."
+
+This story of George Jones, which is a true one, shows how sinful and
+ruinous it is to be idle. Every child who would be a Christian, and
+have a home in heaven, must guard against this sin. But as I have
+given you one story, which shows the sad effects of indolence, I will
+now present you with another, more pleasing, which shows the rewards
+of industry.
+
+
+THE ADVANTAGES OF INDUSTRY.
+
+
+I gave you the history of George Jones, an idle boy, and showed you
+the consequences of his idleness. I shall now give you the history of
+Charles Bullard, a class-mate of George. Charles was about of the same
+age with George, and did not possess naturally superior talents.
+Indeed, I doubt whether he was equal to him, in natural powers of
+mind. But Charles was a hard student. When quite young, he was
+always careful to be diligent in school. Sometimes, when there was a
+very hard lesson, instead of going out in the recess to play, he
+would stay in to study. He had resolved that his first object should
+be to get his lesson well, and then he could play with a good
+conscience. He loved play as well as any body, and was one of the
+best players on the ground; I hardly ever saw any body catch a ball
+better than he could. When playing any game every one was glad to get
+Charles on his side. I have said that Charles would sometimes stay in
+at recess. This, however, was very seldom; it was only when the
+lesson was very hard indeed. Generally he was among the first upon
+the play-ground, and he was also among the first to go into school,
+when called in. Hard study gave him a relish for play, and play
+again gave him a relish for hard study; so he was happy both in
+school and out. The preceptor could not help liking him, for he
+always had his lessons well committed, and never gave him any trouble.
+
+When he went to enter college, the preceptor gave him a good
+recommendation. He was able to answer all the questions which were put
+to him when he was examined. He had studied so well when he was in the
+academy, and was so thoroughly prepared for college, that he found it
+very easy to keep up with his class, and had much time for reading
+interesting books. But he would always first get his lesson well,
+before he did any thing else, and would review it just before
+recitation. When called upon to recite, he rose tranquil and happy,
+and very seldom made any mistake. The government of the college had
+a high opinion of him, and he was respected by all the students.
+
+There was in the college a society made up of all of the best
+scholars. Charles was chosen a member of that society. It was the
+custom to choose some one of the society to deliver a public address
+every year. This honor was conferred on Charles; and he had studied so
+diligently, and read so much, that he delivered an address, which was
+very interesting to all who heard it. At last he graduated, as it is
+called; that is, he finished his collegiate course, and received his
+degree. It was known by all that he was a good scholar, and by all he
+was respected. His father and mother, brothers and sisters, came,
+commencement day, to hear him speak. They all felt gratified, and
+loved Charles more than ever. Many situations of usefulness and
+profit were opened to him, for Charles was now a man, intelligent,
+and universally respected. He is now a useful and a happy man. He has
+a cheerful home, and is esteemed by all who know him.
+
+Such are the rewards of industry. How strange is it, that any persons
+should be willing to live in idleness, when it will certainly make
+them, unhappy! The idle boy is almost invariably poor and miserable;
+the industrious boy is happy and prospered.
+
+But perhaps some child who reads this, asks, "Does God notice little
+children in school?" He certainly does. And if you are not diligent
+in the improvement of your time, it is one of the surest of evidences
+that your heart is not right with God. You are placed in this world
+to improve your time. In youth you must be preparing for future
+usefulness. And if you do not improve the advantages you enjoy, you
+sin against your Maker.
+
+
+"With books, or work, or healthful play,
+Let your first years be past,
+That you may give, for every day,
+Some good account at last."
+
+
+One of the petitions in the Lord's prayer is, "forgive us our debts as
+we forgive our debtors." We do thus pray that God will exercise the
+same kind of forgiveness towards us, which we exercise towards
+others. Consequently, if we are unforgiving or revengeful, we pray
+that God will treat us in the same way when we appear before him in
+judgment. Thus God teaches the necessity of cultivating a forbearing
+and a forgiving spirit. We must do this or we cannot be Christians.
+When I was a boy, there was another little boy who went to the same
+school with me, who was a professed Christian. He seemed to love the
+Savior, and to try in all things to abstain from sin. Some of the bad
+boys were in the habit of ridiculing him, and of doing every thing
+they could to tease him, because he would not join with them in
+mischief. Near the school-house there was a small orchard; and the
+scholars would, without the leave of the owner, take the apples. One
+day a party of boys were going into the orchard for fruit, and called
+upon this pious boy to accompany them.
+
+"Come, Henry," said one of them to him, "let us go and get some
+apples."
+
+"The apples are not ours," he fearlessly replied, "and I do not think
+it right to steal."
+
+"You are a coward, and afraid to go," the other replied.
+
+"I am afraid," said Henry, "to do wrong, and you ought to be; but I
+am not afraid to do right."
+
+This wicked boy was exceedingly irritated at this rebuke, and called
+Henry all manner of names, and endeavored to hold him up to the
+ridicule of the whole school.
+
+Henry bore it very patiently, though it was hard to be endured, for
+the boy who ridiculed him had a great deal of influence and talent.
+
+Some days after this the boys were going a fishing. Henry had a
+beautiful fishing-rod, which his father had bought for him.
+
+George--for by that name I shall call the boy who abused Henry--was
+very desirous of borrowing this fishing-rod, and yet was ashamed to
+ask for it. At last, however, he summoned courage, and called out to
+Henry upon the play-ground--
+
+"Henry, will you lend me your rod to go a fishing?"
+
+"O yes," said Henry; "if you will go home with me, I will get it for
+you now."
+
+Poor George felt ashamed enough for what he had done. But he went home
+with Henry to get the rod.
+
+They went up into the barn together, and when Henry had taken his
+fishing-tackle from the place in which he kept it, he said to
+George, "I have a new line in the house, which father bought me the
+other day; you may have that too, if you want it." George could
+hardly hold up his head, he felt so ashamed. However, Henry went and
+got the new line, and placed it upon the rod, and gave them into
+George's hand.
+
+A few days after this, George told me about it. "Why," said he, "I
+never felt so ashamed in my life. And one thing is certain, I will
+never call Henry names again."
+
+Now, who does not admire the conduct of Henry in this affair? This
+forgiving spirit is what God requires. The child who would be the
+friend of God, must possess this spirit. You must always be ready to
+forgive. You must never indulge in the feelings of revenge. You must
+never desire to injure another, how much soever you may feel that
+others have injured you. The spirit of the Christian is a forgiving
+spirit.
+
+God also requires of his friends, that they shall ever be doing good,
+as they have opportunity. The Christian child will do all in his power
+to make those happy who are about him. He will disregard himself that
+he may promote the happiness of others. He will be obliging to all.
+
+This world is not your home. You are to remain here but a few years,
+and then go to that home of joy or wo, which you never, never will
+leave. God expects you to be useful here. "How can I do any good?"
+do you say? Why, in many ways. You can make your parents happy; that
+is doing good. You can make your brothers and sisters happy; that is
+doing good. You can try to make your brothers and sisters more
+obedient to their parents; that is doing good. You can set a good
+example at school; that is doing good. If you see your companions
+doing any thing that is wrong, you can try to dissuade them. You can
+speak to your bosom friend, upon the Savior's goodness, and endeavor
+to excite in his heart the feelings which are in yours. Thus you may
+be exerting a good influence upon all around you. Your life will not
+be spent in vain. God will smile upon you, and give joy in a dying
+hour.
+
+Some children appear to think that if they are Christians, they cannot
+be so happy as they may be if they are not Christians. They think that
+to love God, and to pray, and to do their duty, is gloomy work. But
+God tells us that none can be happy but those who love him. And
+every one who has repented of sin, and loves the Savior, says that
+there is more happiness in this mode of life than in any other. We
+may indeed be happy a little while without piety. But misfortunes and
+sorrows will come. Your hopes of pleasure will be disappointed. You
+will be called to weep; to suffer pain; to die. And there is nothing
+but religion which can give you a happy life and a peaceful death. It
+is that you may be happy, not unhappy, that God wishes you to be a
+Christian.
+
+It is true that at times it requires a very great struggle to take a
+decided stand as a Christian. The proud heart is reluctant to yield.
+The worldly spirit clings to worldly pleasure. It requires bravery
+and resolution to meet the obstacles which will be thrown in your
+way. You may be opposed. You may be ridiculed. But, notwithstanding
+all this, the only way to ensure happiness is to love and serve your
+Maker. Many children know that they ought to love God, and wish that
+they had resolution to do their duty. But they are afraid of the
+ridicule of their companions. Henry, who would not rob the orchard,
+was a brave boy. He knew that they would laugh at him. But what did
+he care? He meant to do his duty without being frightened if others
+did laugh. And the consciousness of doing his duty afforded him much
+greater enjoyment than he could possibly have received from eating
+the stolen fruit. Others of the boys went and robbed the orchard,
+because they had not courage to refuse to do as their companions did.
+They knew it was wrong, but they were afraid of being laughed at. But
+which is the most easy to be borne, the ridicule of the wicked, or a
+condemning conscience, and the displeasure of God? It is so with all
+the duties of the Christian. If you will conscientiously do that
+which God approves, he will give you peace of mind, and prepare you
+for eternal joy.
+
+One of the most eminent and useful of the English clergymen was led,
+when a child, by the following interesting circumstance, to surrender
+himself to the Savior. When a little boy, he was, like other
+children, playful and thoughtless. He thought, perhaps, that he would
+wait until he was old, before he became a Christian. His father was a
+pious man, and frequently conversed with him about heaven, and urged
+him to prepare to die.
+
+On the evening of his birth-day, when he was ten years of age, his
+father took him affectionately by the hand, and reminding him of the
+scenes through which he had already passed, urged him to commence that
+evening a life of piety. He told him of the love of Jesus. He told him
+of the danger of delay. And he showed him that he must perish for ever
+unless he speedily trusted in the Savior, and gave his life to his
+service. As this child thought of a dying hour, and of a Savior's
+love, his heart was full of feeling, and the tears gushed into his
+eyes. He felt that it was time for him to choose whether he would
+live for God or for the world. He resolved that he would no longer
+delay.
+
+His father and mother then retired to their chamber to pray for
+their child, and this child also went to his chamber to pray for
+himself. Sincerely he gave himself to the Savior. Earnestly he
+implored forgiveness, and most fervently entreated God to aid him to
+keep his resolutions and to refrain from sin. And do you think that
+child was not happy, as, in the silence of his chamber, he
+surrendered himself to God? It was undoubtedly the hour of the purest
+enjoyment he ever had experienced, Angels looked with joy upon that
+evening scene, and hovered with delight and love around that penitent
+child. The prayers of the parent and the child ascended as grateful
+incense to the throne, and were accepted. And from that affecting
+hour, this little boy went on in the path which leads to usefulness,
+and peace, and heaven. He spent his life in doing good. A short time
+since, he died a veteran soldier of the cross, and is now undoubtedly
+amid the glories of heaven, surrounded by hundreds, who have been, by
+his instrumentality, led to those green fields and loved mansions.
+Oh, what a rapturous meeting must that have been, when the parents of
+this child pressed forward from the angel throng, to welcome him, as,
+with triumphant wing, he entered heaven! And, oh, how happy must they
+now be, in that home of songs and everlasting joy!
+
+It is thus that piety promotes our enjoyment. It promotes our
+happiness at all times. It takes away the fear of death, and deprives
+every sorrow of half its bitterness. Death is the most gloomy thought
+that can enter the minds of those who are not Christians. But the
+pious child can be happy even when dying. I was once called to see a
+boy who was very dangerously sick, and expected soon to die. I
+expected to have found him sorrowful. But, instead of that, a happy
+smile was on his countenance, which showed that joy was in his heart.
+He sat in bed, leaning upon his pillow, with a hymn book in his hand,
+which he was reading. His cheeks were thin and pale, from his long
+sickness, while, at the same time, he appeared contented and happy.
+After conversing with him a little while, I said,
+
+"Do you think you shall ever get well again?"
+
+"No, sir," he cheerfully replied, "the doctor says I may perhaps
+live a few weeks, but that he should not be surprised if I should die
+at any time."
+
+"Are you willing to die?" I said.
+
+"O yes, sir," he answered; "sometimes I feel sad about leaving
+father and mother. But then I think I shall be free from sin in
+heaven, and shall be with the Savior. And I hope that father and
+mother will soon come to heaven, and I shall be with them then. I am
+sometimes afraid that I am too impatient to go."
+
+"What makes you think," I asked, "that you are prepared to die?"
+
+He hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Because Jesus Christ has
+said, Whosoever cometh to me I will in no wise cast out. I do think
+that I love the Savior, and I wish to go to him, and to be made holy."
+
+While talking with him, I heard some boys laughing and playing under
+the window. But this sick boy looked up to me, and said, "Oh, how much
+more happy am I now, than I used to be when well and out at play, not
+thinking of God or heaven! There is not a boy in the street so happy
+as I."
+
+This little boy had for some time been endeavoring to do his duty as a
+Christian. His conduct showed that he loved the Savior. And when
+sickness came, and death was near, he was happy. But, oh, how sad
+must that child feel, who is dying in unrepented sin! We all must
+certainly soon die, and there is nothing to make us happy in death
+but piety.
+
+But when the Christian child goes to heaven, how happy must he be! He
+rises above the clouds, and the blue sky, and the twinkling stars,
+till he enters the home of God and the angels. There he becomes an
+angel himself. God gives him a body of perfect beauty, and furnishes
+him with wings, with which he can fly from world to world. God is his
+approving Father. Angels are his beloved friends. You often, in a
+clear evening, look up upon the distant stars, and wonder who
+inhabits them. You think, if you had the wings of an eagle, you would
+love to fly up there, and make a visit. Now, it is not improbable
+that the Christian, in heaven, can pass from star to star, as you can
+go from house to house in your own neighborhood. The very thought is
+enrapturing. If every hour of our lives were spent in sorrow, it
+would be nothing, compared with the joys which God has promised his
+friends at his right hand. When we think of the green pastures of
+heaven; of the still waters of that happy world; when we think of
+mingling with the angels in their flight; of uniting our voices with
+theirs in songs of praise; of gazing upon all the glories and sharing
+all the rapture of the heavenly world--O, how tame do the joys of
+earth appear!
+
+Some children, however, think that they can put off becoming
+Christians till a dying hour, and then repent and be saved. Even if
+you could do this, it would be at the loss of much usefulness and much
+happiness. But the fact is, you are never curtain of a moment of life.
+You are little aware of the dangers to which you are continually
+exposed.
+
+
+"The rising morning can't assure,
+That we shall spend the day;
+For death stands ready at the door,
+To snatch our lives away."
+
+
+We are reminded of the uncertainty of life, by the accidents which are
+every day occurring. Often, when we least suspect it, we are in the
+most imminent hazard of our lives. When I was a boy, I one day went a
+gunning. I was to call for another boy, who lived at a little distance
+from my father's. Having loaded my gun with a heavy charge of pigeon-
+shot, and put in a new flint, which would strike out a brilliant
+shower of sparks, I carefully primed the gun, and set out upon my
+expedition. When arrived at the house of the boy who was to go with
+me, I leaned the gun against the side of the house, and waited a few
+moments for him to get ready. About a rod from the door, where I was
+waiting, there was another house. A little girl stood upon the window-
+seat, looking out of the window. Another boy came along, and, taking
+up the gun, not knowing that it was loaded and primed, took
+deliberate aim at the face of the girl, and pulled the trigger. But
+God, in mercy, caused the gun to miss fire. Had it gone off, the
+girl's face would have been blown all to pieces, I never can think of
+the danger she was in, even now, without trembling. The girl did not
+see the boy take aim at her, and does not now know how narrow was her
+escape from death. She little supposed that, when standing in perfect
+health by the window in her own father's house, she was in danger of
+dropping down dead upon the floor. We are all continually exposed to
+such dangers, and when we least suspect it, may be in the greatest
+peril. Is it not, then, folly to delay preparation for death? You may
+die within one hour. You may not have one moment of warning allowed
+you.
+
+A few years ago, a little boy was riding in the stage. It was a
+pleasant summer's day. The horses were trotting rapidly along by
+fields, and bridges, and orchards, and houses. The little boy stood at
+the coach window with a happy heart, and looked upon the green fields
+and pleasant dwellings; upon the poultry in the farm-yards, and the
+cattle upon the hills. He had not the least idea that he should die
+that day. But while he was looking out of the window, the iron rim
+of the wheel broke, and struck him upon the forehead. The poor boy
+lay senseless for a few days, and then died. There are a thousand
+ways by which life may be suddenly extinguished, and yet how seldom
+are they thought of by children! They almost always entirely forget
+the danger of early death, and postpone to a future day making their
+peace with God. And how little do those who read this book think that
+they may die suddenly! Many children, when they go to bed at night,
+say the prayer,
+
+
+"Now I lay me down to sleep,
+I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
+If I should die before I wake,
+I pray the Lord my soul to take."
+
+
+I used to say this prayer, when a child, every night before I went to
+sleep. But I did not know then, as well as I do now, that I might die
+before the morning. Almost every night some children go to bed well,
+and before morning are dead. It is, therefore, very dangerous to delay
+repentance. Love the Savior immediately, and prepare to die, and it
+will be of but little consequence when you die, for you will go to
+heaven and be happy for ever.
+
+But we must not forget that a most terrible doom awaits those who will
+not serve their Maker. It matters not how much we may be beloved by
+our friends; how amiable may be our feelings. This alone will not
+save us. We must repent of sin, and love the Savior, who has suffered
+for us. We must pass our lives in usefulness and prayer, or, when the
+day of judgment comes, we shall hear the sentence, "Depart from me,
+for I know you not." It is indeed a fearful thing to refuse affection
+and obedience to our Father in heaven. He will receive none into his
+happy family above, but those who love him. He will have no angry,
+disagreeable spirits there. He will receive none but the penitent,
+and the humble, and the grateful, to that pure and peaceful home. Who
+does not wish to go to heaven? O, then, now begin to do your duty,
+and earnestly pray that God will forgive your sins, and give you a
+heart to love and obey him.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+
+TRAITS OF CHARACTER.
+
+
+
+Every child must observe how much more happy and beloved some
+children appear to be than others. There are some children you always
+love to be with. They are happy themselves, and they make you happy.
+There are others whose society you always avoid. The very expression
+of their countenances produces unpleasant feelings. They seem to have
+no friends.
+
+No person can be happy without friends. The heart is formed for love,
+and cannot be happy without the opportunity of giving and receiving
+affection.
+
+
+"It's not in titles, nor in rank,
+It's not in wealth like London bank,
+To make us truly blest.
+If happiness have not her seat
+And centre in the breast,
+We may be wise, or rich, or great,
+But never can be blest."
+
+
+But you cannot receive affection, unless you will also give. You
+cannot find others to love you, unless you will also love them. Love
+is only to be obtained by giving love in return. Hence the importance
+of cultivating a cheerful and obliging disposition. You cannot be
+happy without it. I have sometimes heard a girl say,
+
+"I know that I am very unpopular at school."
+
+Now, this is simply saying that she is very disobliging and
+unamiable in her disposition. If your companions do not love you, it
+is your own fault. They cannot help loving you if you will be kind
+and friendly. If you are not loved, it is good evidence that you do
+not deserve to be loved. It is true that a sense of duty may at times
+render it necessary for you to do that which is displeasing to your
+companions. But if it is seen that you have a noble spirit; that you
+are above selfishness; that you are willing to make sacrifices of
+your own personal convenience to promote the happiness of your
+associates, you will never be in want of friends. You must not regard
+it as your misfortune that others do not love you, but your fault. It
+is not beauty, it is not wealth, that will give you friends. Your
+heart must glow with kindness if you would attract to yourself the
+esteem and affection of those by whom you are surrounded.
+
+You are little aware how much the happiness of your whole life depends
+upon your cultivating an affectionate and obliging disposition. If you
+will adopt the resolution that you will confer favors whenever you
+have an opportunity, you will certainly be surrounded by ardent
+friends. Begin upon this principle in childhood, and act upon it
+through life, and you will make yourself happy, and promote the
+happiness of all within your influence.
+
+You go to school in a cold winter morning. A bright fire is blazing
+upon the hearth, surrounded with boys struggling to get near it to
+warm themselves. After you get slightly warmed, another schoolmate
+comes in suffering with the cold.
+
+"Here, James," you pleasantly call out to him, "I am 'most warm; you
+may have my place."
+
+As you slip one side to allow him to take your place at the fire,
+will he not feel that you are kind? The worst dispositioned boy in
+the world cannot help admiring such generosity. And even though he be
+so ungrateful as to be unwilling to return the favor, you may depend
+upon it that he will be your friend, as far as he is capable of
+friendship. If you will habitually act upon this principle, you will
+never want for friends.
+
+Suppose some day you are out with your companions playing ball. After
+you have been playing for some time, another boy comes along. He
+cannot be chosen upon either side; for there is no one to match him.
+
+"Henry," you say, "you may take my place a little while, and I will
+rest."
+
+You throw yourself down upon the grass, while Henry, fresh and
+vigorous, takes your bat, and engages in the game. He knows that you
+gave up to accommodate him. And how can he help liking you for it? The
+fact is, that neither man nor child can cultivate such a spirit of
+generosity and kindness, without attracting affection and esteem.
+Look and see who of your companions have the most friends, and you
+will find that they are those who have this noble spirit; who are
+willing to deny themselves, that they may make their associates
+happy. This is not peculiar to childhood, but is the same in all
+periods of life. There is but one way to make friends, and that is by
+being friendly to others.
+
+Perhaps some child who reads this, feels conscious of being
+disliked, and yet desires to have the affection of companions. You
+ask me what you shall do. I will tell you what. I will give you an
+infallible recipe. Do all in your power to make others happy. Be
+willing to make sacrifices of your own convenience that you may
+promote the happiness of others. This is the way to make friends, and
+the only way. When you are playing with your brothers and sisters at
+home, be always ready to give them more than their share of
+privileges. Manifest an obliging disposition, and they cannot but
+regard you with affection. In all your intercourse with others, at
+home or abroad, let these feelings influence you, and you will
+receive the rich reward of devoted friends.
+
+The very exercise of these feelings brings enjoyment. The benevolent
+man is a cheerful man. His family is happy. His home is the abode of
+the purest earthly joy. These feelings are worth cultivating, for they
+bring with them their own reward. Benevolence is the spirit of heaven.
+Selfishness is the spirit of the fiend.
+
+
+The heart benevolent and kind
+The most resembles God.
+
+
+But persons of ardent dispositions often find it exceedingly
+difficult to deny themselves. Some little occurrence irritates them,
+and they speak hastily and angrily. Offended with a companion, they
+will do things to give pain, instead of pleasure. You must have your
+temper under control if you would exercise a friendly disposition, A
+bad temper is an infirmity, which, if not restrained, will be
+continually growing worse and worse. There was a man, a few years
+since, tried for murder. When a boy, he gave loose to his passions.
+The least opposition would rouse his anger, and he made no efforts to
+subdue himself. He had no one who could love him. If he was playing
+with others, he would every moment be getting irritated. As he grew
+older, his passions increased, and he became so ill-natured that
+every one avoided him. One day, as he was talking with another man,
+he became so enraged at some little provocation, that he seized a
+club, and with one blow laid the man lifeless at his feet. He was
+seized and imprisoned. But, while in prison, the fury of a malignant
+and ungoverned spirit increased to such a degree that he became a
+maniac. The very fires of the world of wo were burning in his heart.
+Loaded with chains, and immured in a dark dungeon, he was doomed to
+pass the miserable remnant of his guilty life, the victim of his
+ungovernable passion.
+
+This is a very unusual case. But nothing is more common than for a
+child to destroy his own peace, and to make his brothers and sisters
+continually unhappy by indulging in a peevish and irritable spirit.
+Nothing is more common than for a child to cherish this disposition
+until he becomes a man, and then, by his peevishness and fault-
+finding, he destroys the happiness of all who are near him. His home
+is the scene of discord. His family are made wretched.
+
+An amiable disposition makes its possessor happy. And if you would
+have such a disposition, you must learn to control yourself. If others
+injure you, they the gospel rule, and do them good in return, If they
+revile you, speak kindly to them. It is far better to suffer injury
+than to inflict injury. If you will endeavor in childhood in this way
+to control your passions, to be always mild, and forbearing, and
+forgiving, you will disarm opposition, and, in many cases, convert
+enemies to friends. You will be beloved by those around you, and when
+you have a home of your own, your cheerful and obliging spirit will
+make it a happy home.
+
+One thing you may be sure of. There can be no real happiness when
+there is not an amiable disposition. You cannot more surely make
+yourself wretched, than by indulging in an irritable spirit. Love is
+the feeling which fills every angel's bosom; and it is the feeling
+which should fill every human heart. It is love which will raise us to
+the angel's throne. It is malice which will sink us to the demon's
+dungeon. I hope that every child who reads this, will be persuaded,
+by these remarks, immediately to commence the government of his
+temper, Resolve that you never will be angry. If your brother or your
+sister does any thing which has a tendency to provoke you, restrain
+your feelings, and speak mildly and softly. Let no provocation draw
+from you an angry or an unkind word. If you will commence in this
+way, and persevere, you will soon get that control over yourself that
+will contribute greatly to your happiness. Your friends will
+increase, and you will be prepared for far more extensive usefulness
+in the world.
+
+And is there not something noble in being able to be always calm and
+pleasant? I once saw two men conversing in the streets. One became
+very unreasonably enraged with the other. In the fury of his anger, he
+appeared like a madman. He addressed the other in language the most
+abusive and insulting. The gentleman whom he thus abused, with a
+pleasant countenance and a calm voice, said to him, "Now, my friend,
+you will be sorry for all this when your passion is over. This
+language does me no harm, and can do you no good."
+
+Now is it not really magnanimous to have such a spirit? Every person
+who witnessed this interview despised the angry man, and respected the
+one who was so calm and self-possessed.
+
+Humility is another very important trait of character, which should
+be cultivated in early life. What can be more disgusting than the
+ridiculous airs of a vain child? Sometimes you will see a foolish
+girl tossing her head about, and walking with a mincing step, which
+shows you at once that she is excessively vain. She thinks that
+others are admiring her ridiculous airs, when the fact is, they are
+laughing at her, and despising her. Every one speaks of her as a very
+simple, vain girl. Vanity is a sure sign of weakness of mind; and if
+you indulge in so contemptible a passion, you will surely be the
+subject of ridicule and contempt. A young lady was once passing an
+afternoon at the house of a friend. As she, with one or two gentlemen
+and ladies, was walking in the garden, she began to make a display of
+her fancied learning. She would look at a flower, and with great self-
+sufficiency talk of its botanical characteristics. She thought that
+the company were all wondering at the extent of her knowledge, when
+they were all laughing at her, as a self-conceited girl who had not
+sense enough to keep herself from appearing ridiculous. The gentlemen
+were winking at one another, and slyly laughing as she uttered one
+learned word after another, with an affected air of familiarity with
+scientific terms. During the walk, she took occasion to lug in all
+the little she knew, and at one time ventured to quote a little Latin
+for their edification. Poor simpleton! She thought she had produced
+quite an impression upon their minds. And, in truth, she had. She had
+fixed indelibly the impression that she was an insufferably weak and
+self-conceited girl. She made herself the laughing-stock of the whole
+company. The moment she was gone, there was one general burst of
+laughter. And not one of those gentlemen or ladies could ever think
+of that vain girl afterwards, without emotions of contempt.
+
+This is the invariable effect of vanity. You cannot so disguise it,
+but that it will be detected, and cover you with disgrace. There is no
+foible more common than this, and there is none more supremely
+ridiculous.
+
+One boy happens to have rich parents, and he acts as though he
+supposed that there was some virtue in his father's money which
+pertained to him. He goes to school and struts about, as though he
+were lord of the play-ground. Now, every body who sees this, says, it
+is a proof that the boy has not much mind. He is a simple boy. If he
+had good sense he would perceive that others of his playmates, in
+many qualities, surpassed him, and that it became him to be humble
+and unostentatious, The mind that is truly great is humble.
+
+We are all disgusted with vanity wherever it appears. Go into a
+school-room, and look around upon the appearance of the various pupils
+assembled there. You will perhaps see one girl, with head tossed upon
+one shoulder, and with a simpering countenance, trying to look pretty.
+You speak to her. Instead of receiving a plain, kind, honest answer,
+she replies with voice and language and attitude full of affectation.
+She thinks she is exciting your admiration. But, on the contrary,
+she is exciting disgust and loathing.
+
+You see another girl, whose frank and open countenance proclaims a
+sincere and honest heart. All her movements are natural. She manifests
+no desire to attract attention. The idea of her own superiority seems
+not to enter her mind. As, in the recess, she walks about the
+schoolroom, you can detect no airs of self-conceit. She is pleasant
+to all her associates. You ask her some question. She answers you
+with modesty and unostentation. Now, this girl, without any effort to
+attract admiration, is beloved and admired. Every one sees at once
+that she is a girl of good sense. She knows too much to be vain. She
+will never want for friends. This is the kind of character which
+insures usefulness and happiness.
+
+A little girl who had rich parents, and was handsome in personal
+appearance, was very vain of her beauty and of her father's wealth.
+She disgusted all her school-mates by her conceit. And though she
+seemed to think that every one ought to admire her, she was beloved
+by none. She at last left school, a vain, disgusting girl. A young
+man, who was so simple as to fall in love with this piece of pride
+and affectation, at length married her. For a few years the property
+which she received of her father supported them. But soon her father
+died, and her husband grew dissipated, and before long their property
+was all squandered. She had no friends to whom she could look for
+assistance, and they were every month sinking deeper and deeper in
+poverty. Her husband at last became a perfect sot, and staggered
+through the streets in the lowest state of degradation. She was left
+with one or two small children, and without any means of support. In
+a most miserable hovel, this poor woman was compelled to take up her
+residence. By this time, her pride had experienced a fall. She no
+longer exhibited the airs of a vain girl, but was an afflicted and
+helpless woman. The sorrow and disgrace into which she was plunged by
+the intemperance of her husband, preyed so deeply upon her feelings
+as to destroy her health, and in this condition she was carried to
+the poor-house. There she lingered out the few last years of her sad
+earthly existence. What a termination of life for a vain and haughty
+girl! And what a lesson is this to all, to be humble and unassuming!
+You may be in health to-day, and in sickness to-morrow. This year you
+may be rich, and have need of nothing, and the next year you may be
+in the most abject poverty, Your early home may be one of luxury and
+elegance, and in your dying hour you may be in the poor-house,
+without a friend to watch at your bedside. Is it not, then, the
+height of folly to indulge in vanity?
+
+If any child will look around upon his own companions, he will see
+that those are most beloved and respected, who have no disposition
+to claim superiority over their associates. How pleasant is it to be
+in company with those who are conciliating and unassuming! But how
+much is every one disgusted with the presence of those who assume
+airs of importance, and are continually saying, by their conduct,
+that they think themselves deserving particular attention! No one
+regrets to see such self-conceit humbled. When such persons meet with
+misfortune, no one appears to regret it, no one sympathizes with them.
+
+You must guard against this contemptible vice, you would be useful, or
+respected, or happy. If you would avoid exciting disgust, avoid
+vanity. If you do not wish to be the laughing-stock of all your
+acquaintance, do not let them detect in you consequential airs. If
+you would not be an object of hatred and disgust, beware how you
+indulge feelings of fancied superiority. Be plain, and sincere, and
+honest-hearted. Disgrace not yourself by affectation and pride. Let
+all your words and all your actions show that you think no more
+highly of yourself than you ought to think. Then will others love
+you. They will rejoice at your prosperity. And they will be glad to
+see you rising in the world, in usefulness and esteem.
+
+Moral courage is a trait of character of the utmost importance to be
+possessed. A man was once challenged to fight a duel. As he thought of
+his own condition, if he should kill his adversary, and of his
+widowed wife and orphan children, if he should be shot himself as he
+thought of his appearance before the bar of God to answer for the
+atrocious sin, he shrunk from accepting the challenge. But when he
+thought of the ridicule to which he would be exposed if he declined;
+that others would call him a coward, and point at him the finger of
+scorn, he was afraid to refuse. He was such a coward that he did not
+dare to meet the ridicule of contemptible men. He had so little moral
+courage, that he had rather become a murderer, or expose himself to be
+shot, than boldly to disregard the opinions and the sneers of the
+unprincipled and base. It is this want of moral courage which very
+frequently leads persons to the commission of crimes.
+
+There is nothing so hard to be borne as ridicule. It requires a bold
+heart to be ready to do one's duty, unmoved by the sneers of others.
+How often does a child do that which he knows to be wrong, because he
+is afraid that others will call him a coward if he does right! One
+cold winter's day, three boys were passing by a school-house. The
+oldest was a mischievous fellow, always in trouble himself, and
+trying to get others into trouble. The youngest, whose name was
+George, was a very amiable boy, who wished to do right, but was very
+deficient in moral courage. We will call the oldest Henry, and the
+other of the three James. The following dialogue passed between them.
+
+Henry.--What fun it would be to throw a snowball against the
+schoolroom door, and make the instructer and scholars all jump!
+
+James.--You would jump if you should. If the instructer did not catch
+you and whip you, he would tell your father, and you would get a
+whipping then, that would make you jump higher than the scholars, I
+think.
+
+Henry.--Why, we could get so far off, before the instructer could come
+to the door, that he could not tell who we are. Here is a snow-ball
+just as hard as ice, and George had as lief throw it against that door
+as not.
+
+James.--Give it to him and see. He would not dare to throw it against
+the door.
+
+Henry.--Do you think George is a coward? You don't know him as well
+as I do. Here, George, take this snow-ball, and show James that you
+are not such a coward as he thinks you to be.
+
+George.--I am not afraid to throw it. But I do not want to. I do not
+see that it will do any good or that there will be any fun in it.
+
+James.--There, I told you he would not dare to throw it.
+
+Henry.--Why, George, are you turning coward? I thought you did not
+fear any thing. We shall have to call you chicken-hearted. Come,
+save your credit, and throw it. I know you are not afraid to.
+
+George.--Well, I am not afraid to, said George. Give me the
+snowball. I had as lief throw it as not.
+
+Whack went the snow-ball against the door; and the boys took to their
+heels. Henry was laughing as heartily as he could to think what a fool
+he had made of George. George afterwards got a whipping for his folly,
+as he richly deserved. He was such a coward that he was afraid of
+being called a coward. He did not dare to refuse to do as Henry told
+him do, for fear that he would be laughed at. If he had been really a
+brave boy, he would have said,
+
+"Henry, do you suppose that I am such a fool as to throw that
+snowball just because you want to have me? You may throw your own
+snowballs, if you please."
+
+Henry would perhaps have tried to laugh at him. He would have called
+him a coward, hoping in this way to induce him to obey his wishes. But
+George would have replied,
+
+"Do you think that I care for your laughing? I do not think it is
+right to throw a snow-ball against the school-room door. And I will
+not do that which I think to be wrong, if the whole town join with
+you in laughing."
+
+This would have been real moral courage. Henry would have seen at
+once, that it would do no good to laugh at a boy who had so bold a
+heart. And you must have this fearlessness of spirit, or you will be
+continually involved in trouble, and will deserve and receive
+contempt.
+
+I once knew a man who had so little independence, that he hardly dared
+express an opinion different from that of those he was with. When he
+was talking upon politics, he would agree with the persons with whom
+he happened to be conversing, no matter what their views, or what
+their party. He was equally fickle and undecided upon the subject of
+religion, differing from none, and agreeing with all. The consequence
+was, that he had the confidence of none, and the contempt of all. He
+sunk into merited disgrace in the estimation of the whole community.
+
+You must have an opinion of your own. And you must be ready, frankly
+and modestly, to express it, when occasion requires, without being
+intimidated by fear of censure. You can neither command respect nor be
+useful without it.
+
+In things which concern your own personal convenience merely, you
+should be as yielding us the air. But where duty is concerned, you
+should be as firm and as unyielding as the rock. Be ever ready to
+sacrifice your own comfort to promote the comfort of others. Be
+conciliating and obliging in all your feelings and actions. Show that
+you are ready to do every thing in your power to make those around you
+happy. Let no one have occasion to say that you are stubborn and
+unaccommodating. But, on the other hand, where duty is involved, let
+nothing tempt you to do wrong. Be bold enough to dare to do right,
+whatever may be the consequences. If others laugh at your scruples,
+let them laugh as long as they please. And let them see that you are
+not to be frightened by their sneers. Your courage will often be
+tried. There will be occasions in which it will require a severe
+struggle to preserve your integrity. But ever remember that if you
+would do any good in the world, you must possess this moral courage.
+It is the want of this that leaves thousands to live in a way which
+their consciences reprove, and to die in despair. Unless you possess
+this trait of character, to some considerable degree, it can hardly
+be expected that you will ever become a Christian. You must learn to
+act for yourself, unintimidated by the censure, and unmoved by the
+flattery of others.
+
+I now bring this book to a close. If you will diligently endeavor to
+be influenced by its directions your usefulness and happiness will
+surely be promoted. Soon you will leave home, no more to return but
+as a visitor. The character you have acquired and the habits you
+have formed while at home, in all probability, will accompany you
+through life. You are now surrounded by ah the joys of home.
+Affectionate parents watch over you, supplying all your wants. You
+have but few solicitudes and but few sorrows. Soon, however, you must
+leave parents, brothers, and sisters, and enter upon the duties and
+cares of life almost alone. How affecting will be the hour, when your
+foot steps from your father's dwelling, from your mother's care, to
+seek a new home among strangers! You now cannot conceive the feelings
+which will press upon you as your father takes your hand to bid you
+the parting farewell, and your mother endeavors to hide her tears, as
+you depart from her watchful eye, to meet the temptations and sorrows
+of life. Your heart will then be full. Tears will fill your eyes.
+Emotion will choke your voice.
+
+You will then reflect upon all the scenes of your childhood with
+feelings you never had before. Every unkind word you have uttered to
+your parents--every unkind look you have given them, will cause you
+the sincerest sorrow. If you have one particle of generous feeling
+remaining in your bosom, you will long to fall upon your knees and
+ask your parents' forgiveness for every pang you may have caused
+their hearts. The hour when you leave your home, and all its joys,
+will be such an hour as you never have passed before. The feelings
+which will then oppress your heart, will remain with you for weeks
+and months. You will often, in the pensive hour of evening, sit down
+and weep, as you think of parents and home far away. Oh, how cold
+will seem the love of others, compared with a mother's love! How
+often will your thoughts fondly return to joys which have for ever
+fled! Again and again will you think over the years that are past.
+Every recollection of affection and obedience will awaken joy in your
+heart. Every remembrance of ingratitude will awaken repentance and
+remorse.
+
+O, then, think of the time when you must bid father and mother,
+brothers and sisters, farewell. Think of the time when you must leave
+the fireside around which you have spent so many pleasant evenings,
+and go out into the wide world, with no other dependence than the
+character you have formed at home. If this character be good, if you
+possess amiable and obliging and generous feelings, you may soon
+possess a home of your own, when the joys of your childhood will in
+some degree be renewed. And if you will pass your days in the service
+of God, imitating the character of the Savior, and cherishing the
+feelings of penitence and love, which the Bible requires, you will
+soon be in that happy home which is never to be forsaken. There, are
+joys from which you never will be separated, There, are friends,
+angels in dignity and spotless in purity, in whose loved society you
+will find joys such as you never experienced while on earth.
+
+When a son was leaving the roof of a pious father, to go out into the
+wide world to meet its temptations, and to battle with its storms, his
+heart was oppressed with the many emotions which were struggling
+there. The day had come in which he was to leave the fireside of so
+many enjoyments; the friends endeared to him by so many associations--
+so many acts of kindness. He was to bid adieu to his mother, that
+loved, loved benefactor, who had protected him in sickness, and
+rejoiced with him in health. He was to leave a father's protection,
+to go forth and act without an adviser, and rely upon his own unaided
+judgment. He was to bid farewell to brothers and sisters, no more to
+see them but as an occasional visitor at his paternal home. Oh, how
+cold and desolate did the wide world appear! How did he hesitate from
+launching forth to meet its tempests and its storms! But the hour had
+come for him to go; and he must suppress his emotions, and triumph
+over his reluctance. He went from room to room, looking, as for the
+last time, upon those scenes, to which imagination would so often
+recur, and where it would love to linger. The well-packed trunk was
+in the entry, waiting the arrival of the stage. Brothers and sisters
+were moving about, hardly knowing whether to smile or to cry. The
+father sat at the window, humming a mournful air, as he was watching
+the approach of the stage which was to bear his son away to take his
+place far from home, in the busy crowd of a bustling world. The
+mother, with all the indescribable emotions of a mother's heart, was
+placing in a small bundle a few little comforts such as none but a
+mother could think of, and, with most generous resolution,
+endeavoring to preserve a cheerful countenance, that, as far as
+possible, she might preserve her son from unnecessary pain in the
+hour of departure.
+
+"Here, my son," said she, "is a nice pair of stockings, which will
+be soft and warm for your feet. I have run the heels for you, for I am
+afraid you will not find any one who will quite fill a mother's
+place."
+
+The poor boy was overflowing with emotion, and did not dare to trust
+his voice with an attempt to reply.
+
+"I have put a little piece of cake here, for you may be hungry on the
+road, and I will put it in the top of the bundle, so that you can get
+it without any difficulty. And in this needle-book I have put up a few
+needles and some thread, for you may at times want some little stitch
+taken, and you will have no mother or sister to go to."
+
+The departing son could make no reply. He could retain his emotion
+only by silence. At last the rumbling of the wheels of the stage was
+heard, and the four horses were reined up at the door. The boy
+endeavored, by activity, in seeing his trunk and other baggage
+properly placed, to gain sufficient fortitude to enable him to
+articulate his farewell. He, however, strove in vain. He took his
+mother's hand. The tear glistened for a moment in her eye, and then
+silently rolled down her cheek. He struggled with all his energy to
+say good by, but he could not. In unbroken silence he shook her hand,
+and then in silence received the adieus of brothers and sisters, as
+one after another took the hand of their departing companion. He then
+took the warm hand of his warm-hearted father. His father tried to
+smile, but it was the struggling smile of feelings which would rather
+have vented themselves in tears. For a moment he said not a word, but
+retained the hand of his son, as he accompanied him out of the door
+to the stage. After a moment's silence, pressing his hand, he said,
+"My son, you are now leaving us; you may forget your father and your
+mother, your brothers and your sisters, but, oh, do not forget your
+God!"
+
+The stage door closed upon the boy, The crack of the driver's whip was
+heard, and the rumbling wheels bore him rapidly away from all the
+privileges and all the happiness of his early home. His feelings, so
+long restrained, now burst out, and, sinking back upon his seat, he
+enveloped himself in his cloak, and burst into tears.
+
+Hour after hour the stage rolled on. Passengers entered and left; but
+the boy (perhaps I ought rather to call him the young man) was almost
+insensible to every thing that passed. He sat, in sadness and in
+silence, in the corner of the stage, thinking of the loved home he had
+left. Memory ran back through all the years of his childhood,
+lingering here and there, with pain, upon an act of disobedience, and
+recalling an occasional word of unkindness. All his life seemed to be
+passing in review before him, from the first years of his conscious
+existence, to the hour of his departure from his home. Then would the
+parting words of his father ring in his ears. He had always heard the
+morning and evening prayer. He had always witnessed the power of
+religion exemplified in all the duties of life. And the undoubted
+sincerity of a father's language, confirmed as it had been by years
+of corresponding practice, produced an impression upon his mind too
+powerful ever to be effaced--"My son, you may forget father and
+mother, you may forget brothers and sisters, but, oh, do not forget
+your God." The words rung in his ears. They entered his heart. Again
+and again his thoughts ran back through the years he had already
+passed, and the reviving recollections brought fresh floods of tears.
+But still his thoughts ran on to his father's parting words, "forget
+not your God."
+
+It was midnight before the stage stopped, to give him a little rest.
+He was then more than a hundred miles from home. But still his
+father's words were ringing in his ears. He was conducted up several
+flights of stairs to a chamber in a crowded hotel. After a short
+prayer, he threw himself upon the bed, and endeavored to obtain a
+little sleep. But his excited imagination ran back to the home he had
+left. Again he was seated by the fireside. Again he heard the
+soothing tones of his kind mother's voice, and sat by his father's
+side. In the vagaries of his dream, he again went through the scene
+of parting, and wept in his sleep as he bade adieu to brothers and
+sisters, and heard a father's parting advice, "Oh, my son, forget not
+your God."
+
+But little refreshment could be derived from such sleep. And indeed he
+had been less than an hour upon his bed, before some one knocked at
+the door, and placed a lamp in his room, saying, "It is time to get
+up, sir: the stage is almost ready to go." He hastily rose from his
+bed, and after imploring a blessing upon himself, and fervently
+commending to God his far-distant friends, now quietly sleeping in
+that happy home which he had left for ever, he hastened down stairs,
+and soon again was rapidly borne away by the fleet horses of the
+mailcoach.
+
+It was a clear autumnal morning. The stars shone brightly in the sky,
+and the thoughts of the lonely wanderer were irresistibly carried to
+that home beyond the stars, and to that God whom his father had so
+affectingly entreated him not to forget. He succeeded, however, in
+getting a few moments of troubled sleep, as the stage rolled on; but
+his thoughts were still reverting, whether asleep or awake, to the
+home left far behind. Just as the sun was going down the western
+hills, at the close of the day, he alighted from the stage, in the
+village of strangers, in which he was to find his new home. Not an
+individual there had he ever seen before. Many a pensive evening did
+he pass, thinking of absent friends. Many a lonely walk did he take,
+while his thoughts were far away among the scenes of his childhood.
+And when the winter evenings came, with the cheerful blaze of the
+fireside, often did he think, with a sigh, of the loved and happy
+group encircling his father's fireside, and sharing those joys he had
+left for ever. But a father's parting words did not leave his mind.
+There they remained. And they, in connection with other events,
+rendered effectual by the Spirit of God, induced him to endeavor to
+consecrate his life to his Maker's service. In the hopes of again
+meeting beloved parents and friends in that home, which gilds the
+paradise above, he found that solace which could no where else be
+obtained, and was enabled to go on in the discharge of the duties of
+life, with serenity and peace. Reader, you must soon leave your home,
+and leave it for ever. The privileges and the joys you are now
+partaking, will soon pass away. And when you have gone forth into the
+wide world, and feel the want of a father's care, and of a mother's
+love, then will all the scenes you have passed through, return
+freshly to your mind, and the remembrance of every unkind word, or
+look, or thought, will give you pain. Try, then, to be an
+affectionate and obedient child. Cultivate those virtues which will
+prepare you for usefulness and happiness in your maturer years, and
+above all, make it your object to prepare for that happy home above,
+where sickness can never enter, and sorrow can never come.
+
+
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+PUBLICATIONS OF AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY
+
+
+
+D'Aubigne's Hist. of the Reformation, 4 vols., cloth extra, $1 75.
+Saints' Rest, large type.
+Guide to Y'ng Disciples.
+Bunyan's Pilgrim's Prog.
+Elijah the Tishbite.
+Volume on Infidelity.
+Nevins' Pract. Thoughts.
+Nevins' Thoughts On Popery.
+Religion and Eter. Life.
+Jay's Morning Exercises.
+Flavel's Meth. of Grace.
+Doddridge's Rise and Progress.
+Bogue's Evidences of Christianity.
+Flavel's Fount'n of Life.
+Life of Martyn.
+Baxter's Call, large type.
+Baxter's Call, small type.
+Mason's Spirit. Treasury.
+Baxter's Saints' Rest.
+Hall's Scripture History.
+Gregory's Letters on Infidelity.
+Edwards' History of Redemption.
+Morison's Counsels to Young Men.
+Pike's Persuasives to Early Piety.
+Anxious Inquirer
+Edwards on Revivals.
+Mason's Self Knowledge
+Bishop Hopkins on Ten Commandments.
+Reformation in Europe.
+Henry on Meekness.
+Practical Piety, by Hannah More.
+Baxter's Dying Tho'ts.
+Memoir of Mrs. Graham.
+Baxter's Life, chiefly by himself.
+Complete Duty of Man.
+Anecdotes for the Family Circle.
+Owen on Forgiveness of Sin, Psalm 130.
+Alleine's Alarm.
+Jay's Christian Contemplated.
+Keith's Evidences of Prophecy.
+Memoir of Mrs. Sarah L. H. Smith.
+Spirit of Popery.
+Life of Rev. Sam. Kilpin.
+Abbott's Y'ng Christian.
+Wilberforcs's Prac. View.
+Fuller's Backslider.
+Sacred Songs, (Hymns and Tunes.)
+Life of David Brainerd.
+Flavel on Keeping the Heart.
+Melvill's Bib. Thoughts.
+Do. (Patent Notes.)
+Mammon. By Harris.
+Flavel's Touchstone.
+Nelson on Infidelity.
+Life of Samuel Pearce.
+Redeemer's Last Command.
+Bible not of Man.
+Edwards on Affections.
+Memoir of Dr. Payson.
+Mem. of Hannah Hobble.
+Beecher on Intemper'ce.
+Memoir of Mrs. H. L. Winslow.
+Life of John Newton.
+Mem. of Norm'nd Smith
+Gurney on Love to God.
+Self-Deception.
+Mem. of Jas. B. Taylor.
+Memoir of H. Page.
+Appeal to Mothers.
+Memoir of Rev. Dr. Buchanan.
+Abbott's Moth, at Home.
+Young Man from Home.
+Social Hymns.
+Hymns to Sacred Songs.
+
+
+
+BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG.
+
+
+
+Peep of Day.
+Child's Book on Repentance.
+Amos Armfleld, or the Leather-covered Bible.
+Line upon Line.
+Precept upon Precept.
+Amelia, the Pastor's Daughter.
+Youth's Book of Natural Theology.
+Child's Hymn Book. Select, by Miss Caulkins.
+Nathan W. Dickerman.
+Script. Animals, 16 cuts.
+Elizabeth Bales.
+Mary Lothrop.
+Letters to Little Children, 13 cuts.
+Emily Maria.
+John Mooney Mead.
+Newton's Letters to an Adopted Daughter.
+Henry Obookiah.
+Watts' Divine and Moral Songs.
+Gallaudet's Life of Josiah.
+Child's Book on the Sab.
+The Dairyman's Daughter, etc.
+Abbott's Child at Home.
+With numerous similar works.
+
+
+
+ALSO
+
+
+
+Sabbath Manual, Parts 1, 2, and 3. 6 1/2 cents.
+Temperance Manual, 5.
+In GERMAN--31 vols. various sizes.
+In FRENCH--12 vols.
+In WELSH--Pilgrim's Progress and Baxter's Saints' Rest and Call.
+
+
+
+Also, upwards of 1000 Tracts and Children's Tracts, separate, bound,
+or in packets, adapted for convenient sale by merchants and traders,
+many of them with beautiful engravings--in English, German, French,
+Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, Dutch, Danish, Swedish, and Welsh.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Child at Home, by John S.C. Abbott
+
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